


grand sickfic collection

by brites



Category: Free!, Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Emetophilia, Fevers, Multi, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7047997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brites/pseuds/brites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unconnected sick one shots (mostly puking) featuring various sports anime characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. nausea/vomiting - yamaguchi tadashi

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making a new drabble series because more and more people are requesting sickfics on Tumblr -- this way I can keep them separate from my feedist drabbles!

Yamaguchi didn’t like being sick. There were a lot of reasons for his distaste: he missed school, he warded people away with his own grossness – but the absolute worst part was how awful he always felt. He had never had the strongest immune system to begin with. When colds hit him, they hit him hard. When something like the flu – or worse yet, a stomach bug – hit him, it felt like getting run over by a truck and dragged down the street for several blocks.

His stomach only started feeling funny towards the end of afternoon practice. By the time he and Tsukki began to walk home, it was churning. He and his friend had already made plans to study for a test tomorrow at Tsukki’s house, so there was no question that Yamaguchi would follow him home. Suddenly, he found himself longing to draw back on their plans.

“Umm, Tsukki –” he started to say once they’d reached the point where their streets split up, taking them both in opposite directions only minutes away from each other. “Maybe I should go home…”

Tsukishima’s fine mouth turned down in a frown. “Why?”

“I just–” he started to say, but was cut off abruptly when a burp suddenly bubbled past his lips. Eyes widening, his mouth shut with a sharp clink of teeth; he could feel his cheeks burning, and automatically began to clear his throat just to avoid the embarrassment of having to look at Tsukki’s face after that.

When he finally did regain his composure and glance up again, Tsukishima was walking away; he glanced over his shoulder, his expression clearly reading that he wanted Yamaguchi to follow. Without thinking twice and trying desperately to ignore the ache in his gut, the other boy scrambled after him.

“S- sorry Tsukki,” he muttered, still feeling the burn of humiliation from his earlier slip-up. “I guess lunch was heavier than usual today…”

Tsukishima’s face didn’t slip from it’s aloof, slightly disdainful mask, but he had that look about him – the one that seriously implied he wanted to roll his eyes, but was making a rare active effort to be a better person. “Don’t be crude, Yamaguchi,” he said anyway, and the other boy fell silent.

  …

By the time the two of them were situated in Tsukishima’s room, spread out on his bed with their books in front of them, it was becoming obvious to Yamaguchi that something was very wrong. The lunch he’d eaten earlier was still sitting in his stomach, feeling undigested and far too heavy; his abdomen periodically tensed with cramps, and he found it was all he could do to keep his face neutral in order to prevent Tsukishima from realizing anything.  
It wasn’t easy. His stomach kept cramping; he could feel the food he’d eaten bubbling, and a growing sense of dread was beginning to settle itself in his chest.

Yamaguchi pressed a hand over his mouth to avoid outright belching, adjusting himself on his side. Tsukki’s bed was mercifully comfortable; and the blond was too engrossed in his homework to really pay him any mind, comfortable in the knowledge that Yamaguchi was present but not demanding anything from him. There was no reason to pay attention to his friend beyond that… that was, until Yamaguchi’s stomach let out a loud gurgle.

Desperately, he twisted in place to try and silence his own traitorous belly, but it was too late; Tsukishima glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “What was _that_?”

Yamaguchi tried not to think about how red his cheeks probably were. Could he be any more obvious? “Nothing, Tsukki,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice from sounding unsteady even as his stomach did another uncomfortable flip. Tsukishima quirked an eyebrow, doubt written across his face – but the one good thing about Tsukki was that he didn’t press things.

After a few more seconds of uncomfortable scrutiny, he sighed and turned back to his book; Yamaguchi let out a sigh of relief.

Quiet fell back over the room, broken only every so often by the sound of Tsukishima turning a page of his book. Yamaguchi’s own studying had long since been neglected, distracted as he was by his queasy state. He could feel a cold sweat begin to break out along his brow, and half-heartedly swiped at himself with his sleeve. The uncomfortably full feeling flipped in his stomach once, and he tensed; the second time, he had to clench his fists around Tsukishima’s comforter and hold his breath to keep from letting the nausea rise. Without warning, he broke the silence with a loud " _hiccuURP_!” that seemed to echo in the too-quiet room.

In what seemed like slow motion, Tsukishima’s head turned towards him. “… Yamaguchi?”

The queasy boy’s eyes were very, very wide, and just a little bit glassy; his freckles looked like sprinkled spices over tomato red cheeks, and he nearly felt ready to throw up right in the middle of Tsukki’s bed just by the way his friend was looking at him. “I - I -” he started to say, but another gurgling belch slipped out and he clamped his hand over his mouth.

Tsukishima’s critical gaze swept over him, lingering on his flushed, sweat-sheened face and on the arm curled around his stomach. “You’re sick,” he realized aloud, and it was all Yamaguchi could do to nod.

“Do you think you’re going to throw up?”

“I – I feel like – _huuUULP_.” The boy ducked his head, pressing his lips together and trying to fight back a surge of nausea. His struggle certainly did not go unnoticed by Tsukishima, who promptly rose from the bed and gestured for Yamaguchi to follow.

The ill boy followed after him wordlessly, arm wrapped around his stomach as it churned and flipped with each movement. It was a matter of time, they boy realized; when Yamaguchi’s pace quickened once the bathroom was in sight, Tsukishima wasn’t stupid enough to get in his way.

The boy collapsed in front of the toilet and was almost immediately racked by a harsh gag; shoulders tensing, back convulsing, Yamaguchi gasped and spit fruitlessly into the toilet bowl. Gripping the porcelain with both hands tight enough that his knuckles were turning white, he belched thickly before managing another desperate heave.

This time, Tsukishima heard the distinct splash of _something_ in the water; wincing, he turned away. Maybe it made him a bastard, but he figured Yamaguchi wouldn’t be helped if he just wound up losing his own lunch as well.

Yamaguchi heaved a few more times, gagging and belching into the water before puking up even more. By the time he pulled back to catch his breath, his breathing was ragged and sweat was pouring down his face; it was all he could do to hold himself upright.

He let out a low groan, burping softly again; no surge of nausea followed this one, so for the time being he considered that he might be safe. With a shaky sigh, he rested his head against his arm, bracing his full weight against the toilet.

He actually started when he felt a hand on his shoulder; in all the chaos, he had forgotten that Tsukishima was even there. Looking up through blearly eyes, the image of the towering boy seemed to waver slightly; but Tsukki’s lips were pursed, his brow furrowed in what was without a doubt concern, and it made Yamaguchi happy.

“Come on,” Tsukishima urged. “You should lie down.”

Shakily, Yamaguchi pushed himself to his feet, and Tsukki’s hand on his arm supported him when he began to walk again.


	2. nausea/vomiting - iwaizumi hajime

Yet another spike slammed straight past the blockers, and Oikawa felt a rush of glee as he grinned at Kunimi. Aoba Johsai was taking the first set against Wakutani High with ease; all of his players, especially his spikers, seemed like they were at the top of their game. It was hard to conceive of this set not being Seijoh's already -- with an eight point difference, the team only needed a few good spikes to be able to call the set theirs.

"One more!" Oikawa called out, and recieved whoops in reply. It was Hanamaki's turn to serve, and he bumped fists with his friend as he passed him. He was ready to call this practice match a victory for his team.

Blood practically humming with adrenhaline, his eyes darted across the court. The person he sought out was impossible to miss -- eyes focused and narrowed on the other side of the court, Iwaizumi made an imposing figure the the front line up, and just looking at him gave Oikawa a surge of pride. During a game, Iwaizumi was always steady, impossible to shake or break down. When Oikawa could feel the atmosphere beginning to sweep over his head. Iwaizumi was the perfect thing to keep him steady.

But... did Iwaizumi look steady? Maybe it was an odd thing to notice, but it was even odder to realize that Iwaizumi was swaying in place slightly where he stood. His eyes were fixed on the court but his legs looked as if they were having trouble holding him up. His knees quaked slightly, barely enough to notice, but Oikawa prided himself on noticing everything about his opponents and teammates alike.

Now that he'd caught sight of that, it was impossible for him not to notice that Iwaizumi did look pretty pale -- or that he was sweating way more than usual. His shirt was practically drenched through, his breathing was heavy, and it was barely the end of the first set.

But... there was _no way_ Iwaizumi could be sick. After the amount of times he had chewed Oikawa out for trying to play or train while ill, there was no way he'd make a hypocrite of himself by doing the same thing. Did that mean he'd only started feeling bad in the past half hour since this set had started? Oikawa racked his brain trying to recall what he'd seen of Iwaizumi today, and if anything had been out of the ordinary...

And then suddenly the ball was sailing over his head, and his focus locked back on to the gaze again. Wakunan'a libero managed to recieve Hanamaki's serve and sent it to their setter, who of course set it straight to their ace. Oikawa's muscles tensed in preparation, and he and Matsukawa managed to pull off an effective two-man block that kept the spike from slamming past them. It ricocheted back down to the other team's court, but the libero managed to catch it at the last moment. There wasn't enough control, however; the ball went airborne, and it was quickly returning to Seijoh's side again.

"Free ball!" someone called out, and Oikawa was ready. As the ball descended right towards him, he raised his arms in preparation; when they come into contact with the ball, he immediately obeyed every last instinct telling him where to set, and let the ball fly.

"Iwa-chan!"

In the split second that followed, Oikawa caught the way Iwaizumi's eyes widened, his pupils visible in the bright gym lights; he began to go in for a spike, but his body was everywhere at once. His coordination seemed to have abandoned him. He swung at the ball, barely grazed it, and then it wasn't just the volleyball that was falling, but Iwaizumi as well.

"Iwa-" No other sound could leave Oikawa's mouth. Iwaizumi had landed hard on his hands and knees, head bent and panting heavily for breath. He was swaying in place, like a man caught in a storm; as the ball slowly bounced away, a heavy silence fell over the court as all eyes remained on Seijoh's fallen spiker.

Watari was already at Iwaizumi's side, but the second Oikawa got there he knew to step aside. The setter took his best friend by the shoulders, holding him steady and trying to coax Iwaizumi into looking at him; one hand brushed his pallid cheek, and it was a shock to realize that Iwaizumi was _burning._ "Iwa-chan," Oikawa said again, voice strained, and it was this that finally got Iwaizumi to look up at him.

"I -- I --" His pupils were blown, face streaming with sweat; as his hands suddenly dug into Oikawa's forearms to secure himself, Oikawa realized that Iwaizumi was beginning to tremble slightly. "I feel sick," he announced quietly, and followed up this statement with a small burp. Oikawa's eyes widened.

"Are you going to throw up?"

"Don't know... but I really don't want to do it in the middle of the court."

That settled it, then. Rising to his feet again, Oikawa pulled Iwaizumi up with him; despite the wing spiker very clearly bracing himself against him, he turned to face his team with a sunny grin.

"Alright! I'm going to take Iwa-chan to the infirmary. Yahaba-kun, Yuda-kun, I'm trusting you to lead us to victory until I return!"

The two substitute players stepped forwards, eyes lingering hesitantly on Iwaizumi for another moment before they both seemed to remember themselves and nodded. "Yes, Captain!" Yahaba replied; Yuda nodded vigorously, eyes shining at the chance to play in spite of the circumstances. Satisfied, Oikawa quickly began leading Iwaizumi off the court.

The coach didn't protest Oikawa leaving with Iwaizumi; in a real match it might have been different, but this was only a practice game, and he understood the sort of relationship the captain and ace had. No one said anything as Oikaw led Iwaizumi off he court, and -- at the sick boy's gesturing -- out the door entirely.

They had barely made it out of the gym when Iwaizumi suddenly pulled away and doubled over, choking. Oikawa blanched, frantically trying to usher Iwaizumi further from the door as he continued to gag at the ground. All they really managed was to collapse by the side of the road, planting themselves firmly on the curb; Iwaizumi was still fighting for breath. He burped, shoulders quaking, before gradually the fit seemed to let up.

As his fruitless gagging ceased, Iwaizumi heaved a tremulous breath. Bracing his weight against Oikawa's shoulders, he let his head hang and squeezed his eyes shut at the brush of a cool palm over his forehead.

"You're burning up pretty badly."

"Yeah." He belched again. "I figured."

"You weren't sick earlier today, were you?" It wasn't really a question -- Oikawa would have noticed. Iwaizumi shook his head anyway.

"I thought... felt kinda weird, but thoight I'd be fine playing... I didn't..." His stomach churned again, another surge of nausea rising up, and he groaned as he doubled over. Oikawa's hand tentatively massaged between his shoulder blades, anxiety rolling off of him in waves. He wasn't used to Iwaizumi being sick -- he wasn't used to Iwaizumi being anything but strong. Seeing him this ill was... disconcerting, to say the least.

"Iwa-chan, I think --" he was cut off by Iwaizumi burping wetly again, clutching his stomach with one hand and pressing another hand over his mouths. Unconsciously Oikawa found himself moving back, and that's when it hit him that he really was a _terrible_ friend.

"Do you... want to go inside?" he asked, trying not to look as guilty as he was feeling. Iwaizumi shook his head.

"Do you want to find a bathroom?" No reply, this time. Iwaizumi didn't know what he wanted, but as his stomach let out a loud burble it dawned on Oikawa that something was probably going to happen sooner rather than later.

"Are you going to throw up _right_ right now, or do you think you can get somewhere else before it happens?"

In response, Iwaizumi promptly doubled over and started heaving between his legs.

Oikawa spat out a curse, scrambling backwards as his friend gagged and spit up mouthfuls of sickness. Iwaizumi's poor shoes, the ones he'd gotten for his birthday just a few months ago, were getting ruined; puke splashed onto his bare legs, and as a surge of bile streamed from his mouth Oikawa realized that Iwaizumi was getting it all down the front of his jersey as well. Meanwhile, he was just sitting there and _watching_ being about as useful as a statue.

There really wasn't anything he _could_ do until Iwaizumi finally caught his breath again. Attack dying off for the moment, Oikawa tentatively wrapped his arm around the other boy's shoulder. Iwaizumi automatically slumped towards him, and Oikawa tried his best to coax him to his feet.

"Come on, Iwa-chan," he crooned, making his voice as gentle as possible for the sick teen's benefit. "Let's get you some place more comfortable."


	3. coughing/feverish - tachibana makoto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is more generic sickfic than what I usually write, so it got absurdly fluffy because I'm weak like that and also really love Makoto a lot. It's not what I usually write, but I was glad to fill this!!!

Makoto coughs again, once more drawing Haruka'a gaze towards him. His broad shoulders heave, trembling with each harsh breath, and as he buries his face in the crook of his elbow Haru can see the way Makoto's face is going red.

There's always been something disconcerting about seeing Makoto sick. It isn't that he's never seen it before -- a childhood spent growing up together ensured that Haruka had seen Makoto under the weather a multitude of times, and most of the time whatever Makoto had Haruka would just wind up catching. It had taken Haruka a while to figure out just why seeing Makoto ill was unsettling to him, now more than it had ever been; as soon as it had hit him, he couldn't understand why it hadn't been obvious. Makoto was strong, and that was the way Haruka was used to seeing him. In contrast to his gentle personality, Makoto was all towering frame and broad shoulders, muscles wrapped around a figure that, had he possessed any less gentleness, might have been imposing.

But seeing him like this now -- coughing harshly every few minutes, and unable to stop shivering whenever he wasn't -- didn't make Makoto seem strong at all. He seemed very weak, almost small - more reminiscent of the tiny five year old who used to follow Haruka home from school each day than the high schooler Makoto is now. Haruka hates it when Makoto gets sick.

After a solid minute of coughing, the fit finally lightens up enough that Makoto is able to catch his breath. Sighing heavily, he hangs his head, and his frame trembles as a slight gust of wind whips past them. Makoto should have brought a jacket, Haru thinks -- it is well into autumn already, and their walk home isn't a short one. It's funny; normally Makoto would be the one motherhenning him. (Haruka'a never been good at fussing over others; that doesn't mean he doesn't worry.)

"Are you okay?" he asks at last, voice quiet. Makoto looks up, almost like he's surprised by the question.

"I'm fine, Haru," he says at last, a faint smile flickering across his lips. It seems more like a reflex than anything else; it lacks the usual warmth of Makoto's grin, and Haruka doesn't feel comforted at all.

...

By the time they reach Haruka's house (Makoto's parents have taken the twins away on a weekend trip -- so of course it's the _perfect_ time for Makoto to fall ill) the taller boy is trembling openly, and Haruka doesn't waste time before he plops Makoto down on the sofa, forcing a heap of blankets into his lap.

"This -- really isn't necessary, Haru!" Makoto calls from the living room, sounding a bit baffled; Haruka is busy making tea. His grandmother had always had an old recipe, one she said was "designed to soothe sore throats"; Haruka uses this one now, adding a sprinkle of lemon to the brew before carrying the steaming cup back out to his friend.

He's glad to see that Makoto has apparently given up on protesting at this point, and has settled back against the couch with the blankets wrapped around him. There is a definite flush to his cheeks, and a strange glaze in his eyes; when Haru's hand glances over Makoto's as he hands him the tea, he quickly realizes why.

He doesn't say a word; his disapproving 'tsk' is enough to leave Makoto hanging his head. Haruka rushes off again, and returns with a thermometer in hand. At the very least, he thinks as Makoto obediently situated it under his tongue, his best friend is an obliging patient.

They wait a few minutes before the device beeps. Haruka smooths Makoto's bangs back from where they cling to his sweaty brow, and the boy offers him another weak smile in return.

The thermometer beeps; Haruka snatches it away before Makoto gets the chance, and his expression turns grimmer when he reads the temperature aloud. "Thirty nine Celsius," he mutters, and Makoto swallows as he leans back against the couch pillow once more.

"Well..." he chuckles weakly, "it was only a bit lower before."

Haruka's gaze shoots up sharply.

"I -- I mean -- I went to the nurse's office earlier today, and it read thirty eight! She wanted to send me home, but it was the end of the day, and -- and I --"

Makoto's rambling breaks off with another fit of coughing; and it's a good thing, too, because Haruka is glaring daggers at him. For all Makoto loves taking care of other people, he forgets to take care of himself, and it's infuriating sometimes.

"Ahh... I'm sorry, Haru," Makoto mutters at last once he's caught his breath again, sinking back against the cushions once more. Coughing, it seems, drains his energy.

Haruka turns his chin up, knowing Makoto can read his disapproval -- and is just as aware that it's only born from worry. "You need to take care of yourself," he mutters, voice soft, and Makoto squeezes his hand with his own worryingly hot one.

"I know... and I'll try harder in the future," he promises. There is an earnest tone in his voice that coaxes Haruka into looking back towards him again, and when he does he's met with a small, fever-bright smile spread across Makoto's face. "I guess I'm just lucky to have Haru to do it for me."

Haruka chews on the inside of his lip, and wordlessly offers Makoto some more tea.


	4. nausea - iwaizumi hajime

"Oikawa..."

The cramps aren't bad enough that he can't stand upright in the doorway; Hajime's glad for that, at least. The last time he'd had a stomachache he's wound up nearly immobile on the bed, and was out of commission for hours.

Tooru looks up from where's he's hunched over his desk, studying. His glasses perch neatly on his nose, his chestnut hair is mussed in a way that might even be charming had Hajime not known for a fact it was just leftover bedhead, and his lips are pursed when his gaze settles on his boyfriend. Immediately Tooru can tell that something's wrong; it's obvious in the way his shoulders tense. The slumped posture, the strained tone of voice; none of these are normal things for Hajime.

"Iwa-chan?" he tilts his head to the side, almost owlishly. "You okay?"

Hajime shakes his head; as he feels a bubble rise in his chest, he sucks on the insides of his lips to keep from burping. "Not really," he replies. "I feel kind of..." Nauseous. Bloated. These are all true, but what would Tooru think if he told him that? Would he be sympathetic? Flippant? Or would he think it was funny? The logical part of Hajime knows that Tooru wouldn't laugh at his discomfort, but there's another wheedling little voice in the back of his skull that reminds him just how much his boyfriend can still surprise him -- and not always pleasantly.

He doesn't have to say anything, however; his stomach speaks for him, giving out a low growl and then a burble which has Hajime gripping his belly with both hands. His skin feels bloated under his touch, hot and swelling, and it's all he can do not to wince when he meets Tooru's eyes again.

He never outright has to say he's sick, because Tooru knows. Immediately he's on his feet, abandoning his study materials at his desk as he goes to comfort his boyfriend. "Ohh, Iwa-chan," he croons, and as soon as Tooru's cool hand cups his chin Hajime foolishly finds himself feeling just a bit better. "You've got a belly ache? Come on, I know just the thing to help."

He's quiet, almost docile as Tooru brushes through the doorway past him. He leads Hajime back into the bedroom they share, with its mussed up sheets, it's familiar scent of cologne and mid-summer air. It's comfortable and warm, and as Tooru climbs into the nest of blankets Hajime doesn't hesitate to join him.

"How about I rub your belly?" Tooru offers, voice soft. "If you get some of the trapped air out, you might feel better."

Hajime honestly isn't sure about that; he doesn't think he wants anyone touching his stomach at all right now. It feels painfully heavy and bloated, periodic cramps shooting straight to his core; if anything, he thinks Tooru's ministrations would only make him feel worse. And yet when he looks over at his boyfriend, Tooru's eyes are focused and his face earnest. He genuinely wants to help; Hajime knows how much it bothers Topru to feel helpless when someone he cares about is in pain.

Sighing, he relaxes back against Tooru. This is all the permission the other man needs before he begins massaging into the bloat of Hajime's stomach. Cool hands with their calloused palms and bitten nails brush along Hajime's bare skin, half gentle and half earnest; Tooru kneads into the cramps, and Hajime has to fight back a wince as the pressure in his belly doubles.

"Is that okay?" asks Tooru. Hajime responds with a thick burp, nestling his chin down against his collarbone.

He doesn't get nauseous often, and he gets sick even less -- but when he does, it hits him hard. He can feel his stomach pulsing with pain, even under Tooru's skilled hands, and when more air is pushed up and he winds up burping again it dawns on him that he's only starting to feel worse. Not worse, he thinks, in the "I'm-going-to-throw-up" way; but worse in the "I-feel-terrible-and-I'm- going-to-keep-feeling- terrible-because- I-am-your-body-and-I-hate-you" way. This is far worse than the former way, and Hajime finds himself groaning aloud when another pulse of nausea shoots through him. Before he knows it, he's cringing away from Tooru's hand.

"I can't, it's just... I'm just feeling worse. God, I feel awful, _Tooru..._ "

It isn't fair to say his boyfriend's name this way (half a whimper, utterly miserable). He knows it had to strike deep in Tooru's chest, the sensation of helplessness and the frustration of not being able to do anything to ease Hajime's pain. He feels the shift in the bed as his boyfriend sits up next to him, and a hand coming to rest on his back makes him shudder.

"I can try to find some medicine. Would you like that?" There's a hint of desperation in Tooru's voice too, now. Not trusting himself to speak without belching, Hajime simply nods.

Tooru hastily rises, leaving the room and Hajime curled up in bed. Somehow, Hajime finds himself feeling even worse without his boyfriend by his side.


	5. fever - kageyama tobio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suga is the team mom okay it's everyone's joke and even Kageyama is not immune to his Suganess

Of all the things Hinata had expected to happen at practice that day, it really hadn't been... this.

"Hey, idiot Kageyama! Wake up!"

He needed to work on his serve. Today he was _supposed_ to be honing his spiking power, practicing their freak quick, branching out on his own.

No one had told him responsibilities for the day would include babysitting a thoroughly zoned out teammate.

"Pay attention!" he snapped, bouncing on his heel once as he hit the ground. The volleyball he'd just deflected rolled off lazily in the opposite direction. "That's the third ball I've had to keep from hitting you today!"

"No one _asked_ you to stop them, stupid!"

"So I should just let them hit you in the face?"

"Yeah!"

Hinata made a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a screech as he reeled away from his teammate. _Stupid Kageyama_ \- so he could scold him for being irresponsible all he wanted, but the second Hinata dared to say he should have been paying attention in practice Kageyama was allowed to go berserk, and then it was _his_ fault. Life wasn't fair, sometimes.

Before he could go into a sulk, however, he felt someone run up and clap him on the back. "Don't mind, Hinata!" Sugawara-senpai said chirpily. The broad smile the older boy shot him had Hinata instinctively grinning back.

"Although..." Sugawara leaned in conspiratorially, as if whispering some classified secret. Automatically Hinata couldn't help but feel as if he were being taken into his confidence, and found himself leaning closer eagerly. "Don't you think Kageyama's been acting a little weird today?"

"He always acts weird."

"No, I mean... really weird. It seems like he might be sick."

Simultaneously, both sets of eyes swiveled to the boy standing at the far end of the court. Kageyama had -purposely, no doubt - placed himself away from everyone else. The focus with which he was bouncing the volleyball in his hands may have looked intense, had one not taken notice of the odd feverish brightness in his gaze. There was a sheen of sweat clinging to his forehead; his cheeks were flushed a deep red. Every so often he'd make a quick movement, and then almost seem to waver on the spot as if he were seconds away from toppling over.

Hinata hadn't noticed any of this _before_ ; but now, with Sugawara pointing him in the right direction, it was hard not to. Brow furrowing, his lips formed a tiny, incredulous 'o' as he rounded back on his concerned senior again.

"He's sick!" he half crowed (thankfully not loud enough for anyone else to hear). "He's actually sick, isn't he? Why's he at practice, anyway?"

"I don't know..." Sugawara looked just as disconcerted as Hinata was feeling, though he was considerably less animated about it. "I'm worried he might have a fever, and if he does then he really shouldn't be pushing himself." Dark eyes turned hopefully onto Hinata, and the younger boy perked up immediately. "Hinata, do you think you could --"

He didn't have to wait for Sugawara to even finish his sentence. "Don't worry, Suga-san! I'll handle this!"

Eager as he was, Hinata was propelling himself towards Kageyama before Sugawara could even speak; he didn't see the somewhat anxious smile on his senpai's face, or even hear Sugawara's nervous chuckle. Any member of the Karasuno Volleyball Team could tell you that letting Hinata "handle" something was bound to either turn out very well or very badly.

"Hey, Kageyama!" As Suga watched, nibbling his lower lip, Hinata bounced up to Kageyama and immediately attempted to steal the ball from him. Reflexes subdued as they were, Kageyama still managed to twist away; Hinata's grasping hands landed on his bare arm instead, and there was a flash of victory over the redhead's face for a split second before his eyes widened.

"Geez, Kageyama!" Hinata exclaimed -- loudly. Sugawara's lips twitched in spite of himself. "You're burning up!"

Immediately Kageyama drew away, defensive hackles raised. "I am not," he snapped, glowering. His hostility was clear; but if Hinata had ever made the habit of letting Kageyama's near-constant scowls affect him, the team probably wouldn't have their freak quick.

"Yeah," he stated bluntly. "You are. You obviously have a fever. Why are you still practicing?"

Hinata proceeded to make a quick swipe at Kageyama's face, obviously aiming to press a hand to his forehead to check his temperature. Kageyama let out a short yell and stumbled backwards -- straight into the chest of his captain.

"Hey now," said Daichi, arms crossed. "What's this about Kageyama being sick?"

The look of abject horror on the young setter's face was so prominent that Suga had to hide a smirk behind his hand. _Good old Daichi,_ he thought proudly, making his way up behind the Oddball Duo and discreetly nodding to his captain behind their backs. Daichi caught his gaze, raised an eyebrow, and turned his stern expression back on Kageyama again.

Anyone in their right mind had to know that when Daichi had a look like _that_ on his face, they were in the path of an oncoming storm. Still, Kageyama was either remarkably stubborn or stupid -- probably both.

"I'm not sick," he insisted, even as a visible chill coursed through his frame. His broad shoulders trembled, but he forced himself to remain standing tall. "I'm alright. I can still play."

"Kageyama..." Sugawara gently laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, and nearly drew back at the heat radiating from him. Hinata hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said Kageyama was burning up. "You're really warm, and it looks like it's hard for you to stand. Just sit down for a few minutes, at least."

Kageyama's eyes were hard and guarded. "I'm fine. I don't need to..."

Sugawara tilted his head, blinking at him; and maybe there was something in the older boy's expression that caused Kageyama to come to his senses, because inevitably his shoulders slumped. "Okay," he sighed, and didn't protest as Suga led him over to the bench. Glancing over his shoulder, Suga caught Daichi's eye again and winked. The captain nodded back, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted Daichi make his way to Kiyoko -- doubtlessly to ask her for blankets, or maybe some sort of fever reducer. 

It was obvious from the moment he half-collapsed onto the bench that Kageyama was running out of steam. The boy's breaths were coming in heavier, more labored; even sitting down he was swaying slightly in place, and looked dazed.

Brow furrowing, Sugawara couldn't help but wonder just how long the younger boy had been fighting this off. Had Kageyama felt this ill all day long?

"Kageyama..." he ventured softly, sitting down next to him. Wide eyed, Kageyama swiveled around to face him, and the sudden movement had him blinking away vertigo. Brow furrowing, Sugawara reached out and quickly laid a hand atop Kageyama's own burning one.

The boy's eyes were stunned as they stared between the unexpectedly warm gesture and Suga himself.

"When you aren't feeling well, it's important that you tell us. If you've got a fever like this, we really do need to know." The older boy's voice was gentle but stern, and he didn't miss the way Kageyama seemed to tense at what he obviously perceived as a scolding. The _last_ thing Suga wanted to do was make him feel worse. Grip on Kageyama's hand tightening, his lips quirked up into a small smile.

"It's not like there's anything to worry about. People get sick."

"But -- but I shouldn't --" Kageyama shook his head, and it was painfully obvious just how much the fever was muddling his thoughts. "I should be able to train anyway."

"And if you pass out on the court? What then? We're your teammates, you know. You should never hesitate to lean on us!"

Kageyama's brow furrowed. "I wouldn't--" he started to say, but was cut off by the sight of their team's senior manager approaching, an armful of blankets in hand.

Kiyoko gave the sick first year a gentle smile as she set the blankets down next to him. Carefully, she wrapped one of them around his shoulder; it was almost remarkable, Suga mused, how Kageyama unconsciously sunk into the caring touch. Kiyoko proceeded to press a cool water bottle into his hands, and when Kageyama blinked up at her blearily she only nodded in return. "Kageyama-kun, your mother is going to pick you up in a few minutes, alright?

Kageyama blinked, tilting his head at her words. "My... mother?"

"Coach probably called her and told her you weren't feeling well," Suga clarified. Kageyama's head turned slightly, and it was only then that Suga realized the sick boy wasn't just flushed -- he was _blushing._

 _He really must not be used to people looking after him,_ Suga mused; the revelation felt like a knife to the chest. Sympathy pulling his face into a deep frown, Sugawara reached out and began to adjust the blanket over Kageyama's shoulders. He was more surprised than anyone when, quite suddenly, Kageyama leaned into his touch. The boy's shoulders slumped, his feverish breath coming out in a sigh, and suddenly Suga found himself with sixty-six kilograms of feverish kouhai braced against him.

Kiyoko's lips twitched slightly at the sight before she turned away; Sugawara fought the urge to stick out his tongue at her retreating back. "Uhh... Kageyama, are you alright?"

"You said it was okay to lean on you," Kageyama muttered, head resting against Suga's shoulder; his face was clearly burning with embarrassment now, even as a jolt of affection shot through Sugawara at his words. "I'm just... really tired. Is that okay?"

From across the court, he could see Hinata outright gaping at the sight of the normally-reserved Kageyama leaning against Sugawara-senpai. Tanaka and Nishinoya were making no effort to disguise their laughter, and even Daichi was smirking a bit at the sight.

Sugawara sighed, and for the first time he allowed himself to smooth sweat-drenched bangs away from the ill boy's forehead. "Kageyama," he answered honestly, "I don't mind at all."


	6. cold/nausea - oikawa tooru

"Ugh..." Oikawa groans and shifts in bed, muffling a sick burp into his palm. "Iwa-chan... I really don't feel good."

"I know," Iwaizumi sighs from the doorway. "How many times have you said it now?"

"Eleven," croaks the ill boy, before muffling a throaty cough into his arm.

It isn't that Iwaizumi doesn't care. If anything he probable cares too much, and that's his biggest problem. It's just that Oikawa is _so damn annoying_ when he's sick. All he does is moan and groan one minute, fishing for hugs and affection anywhere he can find it; the next he's back on his feet, forcing himself to try and practice just as if everything were normal. He tends to flip on a dime, and what scares Iwaizumi the most is wondering what might happen to Oikawa if he weren't here to look after him (he still remembers the day back in high school when he collapsed from a high fever in the middle of practice).

Sharing an apartment with Oikawa is different, and in many ways easier. He doesn't have to worry about Oikawa overworking himself, because he can be there to make sure it doesn't happen. If anything, however, he only winds up worrying even more.

And -- perhaps the most unfortunate thing of all -- he becomes a prime target for Oikawa's cuddle-motivated whining.

Like now, for example.

"Iwa-chaaaaan," Oikawa drones, dragging out the final syllable so much that Hajime is amazed he doesn't pass out from oxygen deprivation. Long arms reach out to him, grabby hands snatching at empty air.

"You're sick," Hajime wrinkles his nose in distaste at Oikawa's utterly rumbled visage. His usually perfect hair is mussed, tangled and unwashed. His nose is bright red, his cheeks are ruddy, and he can't speak without sounding painfully stuffed up. Worse than that, however, is the indigestion that had started after Oikawa had insisted on eating a heavy meal because he'd convinced himself that it would make him "feel better". Now he must pause every few minutes, muffling wet belches into his fists and avoiding Iwaizumi's eye as he does so.

Iwaizumi doesn't want to _cuddle_ with this mess. Not even a little bit.

"Gross," he says, drawing away. "No."

"But Iwa--"

"Harass someone else," Iwaizumi cuts him off, crossing his arms. "You're gross."

They both know that Oikawa doesn't have anyone else to harass, and he looks sorry enough that he actually wouldn't dream of leaving the house like this. That's one worry to check off Iwaizumi's list, but there are more ways to stress yourself when you're sick than going out; for example, crying. Right now Oikawa's lips have developed into a firm pout, his slightly dimpled chin trembling; he's obviously making himself cry just to get under Iwaizumi's skin, but the fact remains that he's making himself cry when he's _sick_.

Iwaizumi's face falls at once. Now matter how hard he tries, Oikawa always knows how to get just what he wants.

"You're so mean to me..." Oikawa mutters, and his words trail off into an ill sounding belch that he doesn't even bother muffling. Brow creasing, he wraps his arms around himself and pouts at the opposite wall, staring just past Iwaizumi. "I feel really nauseous, too... ugh, why do you have to be so cruel?"

Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa turns on his side, wrapping both arms around his stomach. He exhales, a shuddering breath, and suddenly the healthy man finds himself feeling very guilty.

"Oikawa, I --"

"No!" Oikawa shakes his head, face half buried in his pillow. "I wouldn't want to bother you with my 'grossness'."

Oh, for god's sake. "I'm sorry I called you gross." Iwaizumi takes a step closer, towards the bed, towards Oikawa. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Yes you did."

"Okay, yeah, I did, but now that your feelings are actually hurt I feel kind of bad." Determined, Iwaizumi slips into bed next to Oikawa and twines both arms around his shoulders. When he's sick Oikawa always seems so much frailer; like he could break more easily, with a push, with the slightest force. There's something terrifying about it. "Let me make it up to you?"

Oikawa's stomach grumbles, and he gives a burp that devolves into a harsh cough. Hajime holds him while his shoulders rock with the force, and then keeps holding him even when Oikawa turns and buries his face in his boyfriend's broad chest.

"Mmm..." he gives a wheezing sigh, nestling closer. "Iwa-chan is so warm..."

Iwaizumi sighs, running one hand through the mess of his boyfriend's hair. So, Oikawa turns into a tree sloth when he's sick, and Iwaizumi ends up being the target of his affection all too often.

He guesses there are probably worse ways to suffer.


	7. nausea/vomiting - oikawa tooru

"Mmm..."

Hajime was roused from sleep, not by the sound of restless moaning coming from the other side of the bed, but by a bony foot that planted itself soundly in the middle of his spine.

"Shit, _ow--"_

"Iwa-chan--"

"Ow! The hell, Crappykawa, the actual _hell_?" Hajime rolled off the bed and landed hard on the floor, writhing. His spine _had_ to be broken after that. Tooru always had the most bony feet, all hard ankles and defined ridges, and it was cute until he wound up _kicking you_ in his sleep --

"Iwa-chan..." Tooru said again, and this time there was something in his voice that made Hajime sit up. Night still hung heavy over the room, casting it in thick darkness, but Hajime could see just enough to make out that Tooru was sitting up in bed, sheets bunched around his chest, curled into an odd position that didn't seem comfortable at all. His face looked very pale.

"Hey," he said, propping himself up and sitting up to look at him. "What's the matter? Are you okay?"

Tooru shook his head wordlessly, pressing one hand even tighter around his stomach. "Iwa-chan, I don't... I feel..." He stopped, swallowing thickly as if trying to clear the sensation of a dry mouth, and when he looked up at Hajime again there was something absolutely pitiful in his expression. "I _really_ don't feel good."

So _that_ was it, thought Hajime as he pulled himself off the ground, slipping into bed at his boyfriend's side. Tooru was notorious for not handling illness well -- either he wanted to be out of bed and training _now,_ or he wanted someone close to him and holding him. The latter was usually employed liberally by Hajime in order to override the former. There were times when Tooru downright turned into a tree sloth when he was ill, and it became obvious that this would be no exception the second Tooru wrapped his arms around Hajime's broad shoulders, clinging to him tightly just long enough to find a suitable spot nestled against his chest. The movement didn't suit him well, apparently; he hiccuped, wincing, and a hand went to his mouth.

"Oh _shit_ ," Hajime muttered again, eyes widening minutely. "You're really going to be sick?"

"Not right now," replied Tooru, shifting against his chest and nestling his head right between the defined ridges of Hajime's pecs. This, Hajime had quickly learned within a few months of them beginning to date, was his favorite spot. "But my stomach keeps churning, and I feel really nauseous..."

Hajime gave a long sigh, gently starting to card his fingers through Tooru's hair. His skin was slightly damp with sweat, but this didn't impact the perpetual silkiness that seemed to cling to Tooru's hair with as much ambition as a parasite. Where Hajime's hair had turned wiry and unworkable as he grew, Tooru's had always been soft and delightfully pliable. "It's alright," he muttered, voice soft around the edges with residual sleepiness. Gently, he nudged Tooru's arms out of the way from where they were wrapped around his stomach and replaced them with his own hand, massaging in smooth circles over the cramping muscles in his belly.

"Mmm, that feels good," Tooru keened, then gave a soft burp, ominously wet sounding. He smacked his lips afterwards, frown growing deeper on his fair face, and as his stomach tensed again Hajime heard a low growl ripple through the air.

"Ahh... oh man, I feel so _nauseous_..." Tooru's nails dug into the skin of Hajime's shoulder as he curled in further on himself. He was shaking slightly, resembling a man at sea; when he squeezed his eyes shut it hit Hajime that it would probably be a good idea to distract Tooru, and fast, before he wound up losing his dinner all over him.

"H- hey. Do you remember that boat trip we took at the end of elementary school? We were on that fishing barge, and while the fish guys were showing our entire class around I was busy getting seasick, so to distract me you thought it would be a really great idea to climb the ropes?"

"Oh wow, yeah." Tooru huffed a laugh. "I got stuck, and they had to cut me down with a knife... you were laughing so hard you forgot to be sick."

"And your shoe fell into the ocean. You never got that back, did you?"

"It fell in the _ocean_ , Iwa-chan, and if you ever paid attention in class you'd know that's a pretty big place..."

Hajime gently cuffed Tooru on the side of the head, and he wound up giggling once more before cutting himself off with a sick burp. His spine tensed in Hajime's grip and a quiet groan escaped his lips. Hajime took this as a very good time to get going.

"Okay, that's it. Up, now. We're camping in the bathroom tonight."

"Iwa-chan, no, you have classes tomorrow, I don't want --"

"Don't want me to be dead tired? I'm a pre-med student, Tooru, believe me, I'll be tired anyway. Come on."

Tooru didn't make a move to get up. Experience suggested it was out of pure stubbornness, but common sense -- which Hajime liked to think he had a lot of -- told him that Tooru's reluctance probably came from the loud burble which sounded from his stomach, and the way his entire body was slowly growing tense -- an ominous form of rigor-mortis that frightened Hajime in general, but especially when Tooru was sitting in the middle of _their_ bed.

"Okay," he announced, and in one swift movement he had scooped Tooru into his arms entirely. The lighter man let out a soft squeak, throwing his arms around Hajime's neck, but there was no danger of him being dropped -- Hajime had been working out lately, and he could bench press more than his boyfriend's entire weight twice over. Unfazed, he steered them both into the bathroom, gently settling Tooru down in front of the toilet and giving him a soft pat on the back for good measure.

Tooru jolted with an ill sounding burp, glancing up at Hajime from he corner of his eye. "Iwa-chan's a show off today," he rasped, and then promptly broke into a gag over the rim of the toilet. 

Hajime cursed, stroking gently up and down Tooru's back. The first wave of gagging was unproductive, but the second managed to bring up several mouthfuls of what they'd eaten for dinner that night. Tooru's shoulders spasmed; he hiccuped wetly into the bowl, and then proceeded to fall back to his knees, shaking.

"Ohhh..." He groaned, low and pitiful, already searching out the comfort of Hajime's arms. Rationally, Hajime didn't want to get anywhere too close to a vomiting person; but this was _Tooru,_ and he'd always defied rational thought. Hajime didn't hesitate before pulling his boyfriend close, stroking him through another wave of nausea as he burped softly against his chest. It was a few moments before Tooru pulled away again, gripping the bowl with both white-knuckled hands and this time managing to bring up a surge of vomit. He emptied his stomach of all that had to be in it; by the time he was just spitting up mouthfuls of acid, Hajime had to gently take him by the shoulder and pull him back.

"Stop," he whispered, brushing the hair back out of the other boy's flushed face. When Tooru forced a gag again, he resorted to harsher encouragement. "You'll ruin your teeth that way."

If there was ever motivation for Tooru to stop being sick, it was ruining his pearly white smile. He fell back against Hajime's chest, hiccuping viciously, his shoulders convulsing with every too-deep breath. A hand over his stomach revealed muscles still tight and cramped, but at the very least he seemed to be over the worst of actually getting sick.

Tooru's hand tightened around the collar of Hajime's shirt, nails just barely missing grazing the skin of his neck. "Bed, Iwa-chan," he commanded, and one look told Hajime he wasn't getting there himself. Sighing, he nestled Tooru into his arms and hauled himself to his feet. They would ride out the rest of the night together -- classes in the morning be damned.


	8. fever/fainting - oikawa tooru

**AN: eyyyy I'm always a slut for feverish oikawa**

In all honesty, Tooru had known _something_ was wrong. He just hadn't known what, or why, nor did he really have the patience to care.

He had practice. That was all there was to it. No way was he going to miss out on an entire day of training when they were this close to the Spring Tournament, just because he felt a tiny bit woozy after waking up that morning.

It wasn't even that bad, he insisted to himself -- even as what should have been another easy serve slipped from his grasp and bounced away across the brightly colored gym floor. The entire gym was too bright -- colors too sharp, lights too fluorescent, sounds too loud. His head had been pounding since he'd woken up that morning. His throat ached, and there was an unfamiliar heaviness to his limbs that left him feeling half-dead on his feet. It was the dizziness that was probably the worst thing -- when he moved too quickly he was immediately assaulted by a wave of harsh vertigo that left him blinking hazily, shaking his head and struggling to recollect his bearings. But still, none of it was _that_ bad.

He bent down, snatching the volleyball up off the floor; he ignored the way his head spin when he straightened up. It wasn't that bad. It could be worse. He could be feeling much, much worse.

Raising the ball out in front of him, Tooru began to line up the serve. His eyes focused intently on the ball, gaze boring into bright green and red. He could feel the colors imprinting into his eyelids, burning themselves into his retinas -- his eyes were burning. His skin was burning. He was burning.

Tooru inhaled sharply, but for some reason the air seemed to flow right back out of his lungs. The room tilted, shifted; he could feel his knees buckling under him, but balance suddenly seemed like a very distant concept. The pressure pounding in his head at once seemed to double, and it was all he could do to make a soft noise of pain before he found himself pitching forward...

He didn't remember hitting the ground.

...

It was only a second -- maybe a bit more, maybe less -- before Hajime was hurtling across the gym, his own shout ringing over the sound of chattering and bouncing serves. Oikawa was already on the ground when he got there, and he wasn't moving.

"Oikawa!" Hajime crouched next to him, and cursed aloud at the sheer amount of heat radiating from the other boy. He wasn't just feverish, he had to be _burning up --_ how hadn't Iwaizumi noticed earlier?

"Iwaizumi-senpai!" someone called from behind him, but Hajime wasn't wasting time. Without hesitation he gathered the fallen boy into his arms, cushioning Oikawa's head in his lap. Sweat-dampened hair clung to his face, and Hajime pushed it away almost roughly. Oikawa's face was flushed a deep, ruddy red, and his lips were parted to make way for labored pants of breath. Hajime felt his chest constrict sickeningly just at the sight of him there, lying limp and frail _(too frail)_ on the volleyball court.

Their coach was crouching next to them in a matter of seconds; seizing Oikawa by the wrist, he read his pulse. It was all Hajime could do to keep his own breathing level when the coach spoke. "He's running a high fever! Why the hell did he come to practice like this? He should have stayed home!"

 _Because he's Oikawa,_ Hajime wanted to say; thankfully, he held his tongue. It was impossible not to feel the eyes of his teammates boring into his back. The other two second years were hovering anxiously on the sidelines, while the captain knelt at the coach's side and was muttering something quietly.

"Get some water!" the coach called, gesturing over his shoulder. Watari, the first year libero, nodded hastily before taking off at a sprint out of the gym. Hajime found himself subconsciously grinding his teeth as his attention locked back onto Oikawa again.

This was all his fault. They had walked to school together not even an hour ago. Hajime had _known_ something was off, but he hadn't pressed it. He _should have pressed it dammit --_

And now Oikawa's eyes were shut, he was breathing raspily, and Hajime couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so scared.

"- izumi... _Iwaizumi!"_

The sharp voice of his coach had him jolting out of his haze, looking up with wide eyes. "S- sorry."

The coach's frown deepened, but he seemed more concerned than annoyed. "He needs to go home," he said, and Iwaizumi nodded his head fervently. "Do his parents both work?"

"They do, yes... b-but my mom is free today, we live just next door to each other, call her please --"

It was a testament to how well accepted the bond between the setter and his spiker was that the coach didn't even bat an eye, only nodding and tapping Iwaizumi-san's number into his phone as Hajime hastily recited it to him (the school probably had it recorded somewhere, but that would take time and Hajime _needed_ to feel slightly useful right now). Watari finally returned, chilled bottle of water in hand, and the team captain wasted no time before trickling a thin stream over Oikawa's forehead.

The boy made a soft noise and shifted in Hajime's lap; Hajime wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or strangle him. "Hey, Oikawa," he urged, and finally -- finally -- Oikawa's eyes flickered open.

Hajime bit down on his lip hard; Oikawa's chocolate orbs were glassy and blown, totally lacking their characteristic sharpness. As his gaze flickered over the faces hovering above him, it was only too clear that he didn't recognize any part of his surroundings -- and then his gaze landed on Hajime.

"Iwa-chan?" he breathed. Hajime swallowed back a lump in his throat.

"I'm here, dumbass... _stupid_ fucking idiot..."

Oikawa's brow creased. "Don't _swear_ at me, Iwa-chan, I... feel weird."

"You have a fever, stupid," Hajime shot back harshly. Oikawa blinked, uncomprehending.

"Oh," he said, and shut his eyes once more; a sharp pinch to the side jolted him awake.

"Are you a fucking idiot? Stay awake! My mom's coming to take you home because you collapsed in the middle of morning practice and scared the shit out of all of us! If you think I'm carrying you to the car, you're out of your mind!"

Oikawa whimpered slightly at the harsh tone in the voice above him, and guilt stung like a knife in Hajime's chest. Unconsciously, his grip tightened around Oikawa's limp hand, and he felt the other's fingers twitch in reply.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, smoothing Oikawa's hair away from his forehead. The sick boy's eyes were fixed on him, and he looked so confused that it made Hajime's throat feel tight. "I'm gonna take you home, I promise..."

And like hell was he ever letting something like this happen again.


	9. burping/nausea/vomiting - kozume kenma

**AN: okay so this one focuses a lot on the nausea but Kenma does actually get sick at the end so just a heads up. And I totally agree with this headcanon!!!**

Kenma bit down on his lower lip, focusing intently on the tiny screen in front of him. Fingers moved in a manic rhythm, tapping out keys as he directed the tiny protagonist around the screen. He intended to beat this boss level, even if it was the last thing he did.

His stomach have another uncomfortable churn, and he grit his teeth before curling in on himself just a little bit tighter.

No matter what, he wasn't going to be sick.

Kenma hated getting sick. He hated the wooziness, the feeling of being off center; he hated fevers, coughing, being congested. Most of all, he despised nausea.

He felt another burp burble up in his chest and automatically clamped his lips shut to stifle it, eyes narrowing minutely at the game screen. It had been a long day, and really the last thing he wanted now was to go to volleyball practice.

"Kenma. Ken- _maaa."_

"What, Kuro." The tone in his voice leaves no doubt that he's irritated; but Kuroo, in typical Kuroo fashion, doesn't seem to care.

"Come on. I come all the way to your class _just_ so I could escort you to practice, and you don't want to go?"

"I didn't ask you to come."

Kenma knew exactly why Kuroo had come to get him today -- he could tell from their walk to school that morning (when Kenma had only just started to feel sick) that something was up. He was probably worried about him -- and also wanted to make sure he didn't skip practice, so coming to drag him there was killing two birds with one stone.

Kenma's lips curled down in a frown as the hovering presence of Kuroo lingered over his shoulder. "I don't want to go today," he said plainly, though he knew there was no chance of Kuroo dropping it.

"Why?"

"I don't want to."

"That isn't an answer!"

"I'm tired."

"Did you get enough sleep?"

"Yes." Who did Kuroo think he read, his mother? Kenma shot him a glare. If anything, this only encouraged Kuroo even more.

"Well, then why don't you want to come to practice? Come on, Kenma, you never skip for no reason. Is something bugging you?"

In a word, yes -- there definitely was something bothering Kenma. His stomach gave a short flip and he clenched the muscles of his abdomen, fighting hard against the wave of nausea threatening to engulf him. A belch rose up his throat, and he was forced to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep it from escaping.

Well, now Kuroo _knew_ something was wrong. Kenma returned his attention to his game, though out of the corner of his eye he could see Kuroo crouch down next to him. "Hey. Really, are you feeling okay?"

"I feel fine," he retorted shortly, mostly because he still really felt like he had to burp.

Kuroo didn't buy it. He'd known Kenma for long enough to be able to pick up discrepancies in his behavior, to tell when he was feeling okay and when he wasn't. He knew Kenma wasn't feeling well, in the same way Kenma knew Kuroo wasn't going to let Kenma skip out on practice until he confessed it to him.

But Kenma wasn't about to do that. Admitting he was sick would get Kuroo worried, and that would bring attention onto him that Kenma really didn't want. At least if he kept quiet and acted like nothing was wrong, Kuroo might not think it was that serious.

With a long-suffering sigh, Kenma snapped his game closed and raised his gaze to meet Kuroo's expectant one. "Fine. Let's go."

...

Kenma had known coming to practice would be a really bad idea. It wasn't just the constant shouting of his teammates that irritated his headache, or running laps that seemed to make his stomach jump into his throat every five seconds; it was the fact that his nausea only seemed to get worse the longer he spent around people.

If Kenma could just get a few minutes alone, he could get some peace. He could rest. He could even let himself burp, and maybe that would help ease the unsettled churning in his belly. But as long as he was surrounded by his teammates, he couldn't give himself the freedom of trying to feel better.

"Kenma-san! Toss to me again!"

Kenma pressed the back of his hand over his mouth, cheeks inflating slightly with another suppressed burp. His stomach gave off an unhappy growl, and he winced as he discreetly rubbed it through his jersey.

"Kenma-saaan!"

"Calm down, Lev," he sighed, turning to the enthusiastic middle-blocker. Even the slight movement caused his stomach to churn, and he couldn't hide a wince.

"Ken-" Lev cut himself off, tilting his head as if he'd just seen something baffling. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Kenma shot back, and then immediately clamped his mouth shut to suppress a sharp burp. He was almost certain it was audible anyway; heat rose to his face, and he flung himself turning away again.

"Practice your serve," he muttered to Lev, and immediately made a beeline for the far end of the court. At least over there it was less crowded; he could slip under the radar, and hopefully not attract any more attention.

"Kenma-senpai!" A loud voice from behind him called out, and he winced as his pace quickened. Why did everyone want him to toss for them today? Wasn't it obvious he didn't want anything to do with anyone? Why couldn't they just leave him a--

A sharp belch tore from his mouth, quicker than he could hold it back; immediately clamping a hand over his mouth, his other arm clutched his abdomen as his stomach burbled. His destination changed; now he was walking as quickly as possible towards the bench.

"Kenma?"

Oh god, whose voice even was that? He was attracting too much attention; he could feel his teammates stares burning into his back. They could all tell he was sick, they were all going to crowd him, **he was going to throw up--**

He collapsed down on the bench hard, brow furrowed in pain as he doubled forward. His hand was still pressed to his mouth, and his entire world seemed to rock with the nausea he was desperately trying to hold back. _Don't get sick,_ he chanted to himself, _don't, don't, don't..._

"Kenma."

Kuroo's voice now, and too close -- was the entire team surrounding him? Kenma couldn't open his eyes, and didn't want to; just as he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder another belch rose up in his throat, brining with it a surge of something wet and burning.

Kenma tried to keep his mouth closed, but it was no use -- with a painfully sick burp, he doubled over and wound up puking between his knees.

"Shit..." Kuroo cursed next to him, and a firm hand rubbed circles between his shoulder blades as Kenma gagged again. It wasn't just puke; all the gases he has been holding up in his stomach were coming up at last, and in between mouthfuls of sickness he found himself burping helplessly.

"That's okay... let it out... you're fine. Breathe, Kenma..."

But Kenma couldn't breathe, not when he knew the entire team had to be surrounding him. He could feel claustrophobia setting in, panic making his limited breaths come short and choked. With yet another gurgling burp, he finally raised his eyes to see...

Nothing. No one was pressing in on him, looking at him; he couldn't even see everyone on the court.

He inhaled, shakily. "W- where's --"

"Running laps outside," Kuroo replied, voice soft. "Kai led them all out, just before... you looked pretty bad, so I was worried..."

"Oh," Kenma replied, and then burped again; doubling over, another mouthful of vomit hit the gym floor.

"Dammit Kenma, I knew you weren't feeling well, but I didn't think it was this bad... you should have said something. To coach, or me... I would have helped, you know."

Kenma broke off into a soft coughing fit, struggling to catch his breath. He felt Kuroo keeping him upright, holding him steady and patting his back through the worst of the gagging. "Sorry," he choked at last -- both for not telling anyone and making a mess all over the gym floor. How mortifying.

"It's okay," Kuroo soothed, his voice silky-smooth and calming. "Don't worry about it. Do you think you're done?"

Kenma paused, assessing the empty, hollow feeling that lingered in his stomach; hesitantly, he nodded.

"Okay." Kuroo rose to his feet, coaxing Kenma up with him. When the ill boy's legs nearly gave out on him, Kuroo supported his shoulders. "Come on. Let's get you some place more private."


	10. fever - sugawara koushi

Sugawara's head spun as the world pitched a bit on its axis; for one horrible moment, he was really sure that he was about to fall over.

How embarrassing would that be -- pitching headfirst down the stairs, just because a fever was making him a little woozy. How stupid -- and how ridiculous would that be to explain to his parents once they got home from work?

His dad was a dentist and his mom was a teacher, so they both had to work during the day. They couldn't afford to take time off, even if their youngest child was laid up in bed and running a worrying temperature. What they had done was leave Suga all the supplies he might need to last the day out: from bottles of water and light snacks, congestion pills and fever reducers. Suga had been left with it all that morning, kissed gently on the forehead by his mother and told to get some rest.

And he really would have liked to be in bed right now... except he'd had to go to the bathroom, and when he'd gotten back it had dawned on him that his water bottle was empty.

Now, staring down the menacing pitch of the stairs, Suga wondered if a new water bottle would really be worth facing certain death.

Just the sight of the staircase was making his head pound; he swayed on the spot, blinking blearily down at the harsh slope of the stairs. Suddenly, even trying to make it down there just seemed like so much work.

He swallowed thickly, and his throat stung with dryness. Gritting his teeth, he realized that he didn't really have a choice; drinking fluids was just as important to his recovery as it was to his parched throat. He felt so thirsty... and his head was pounding. Didn't his father tell him once that drinking water helped with headaches?

Slowly, carefully, Suga descended the first step. He was glad he was holding onto the railing; a wave of dizziness shot through him, and had he not been holding on tightly he probably would have wound up over balancing. Shuddering with a chill, he tightens his grip on the rail and takes the next step down.

He had never realized how steep his stairs were before, and he'd lived in the same house for almost eighteen years. As a child, he remembered the towering staircase seeming daunting. Now, it's just a death trap.

He hadn't even made it halfway down when his knees gave out on him. His shivering frame wound up collapsing, and his butt connected hard with the wooden stair. Thankfully, he managed not to fall down the rest of the staircase -- but that didn't make the notion of getting to his feet again any less daunting. With a grimace, he drew his legs up to his chest and curled up against the wall, resting his forehead between his knees. Darkness was a balm for his aching head; after a moment he realized he couldn't imagine forcing himself to move anywhere else. With a soft sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to fade away for a little while.

...

He wasn't sure when he drifted off. He didn't really wake up, either. The next time he opened bleary, unfocused eyes he was met with the round face of his mother, long waves of ashy blonde hair brushing his cheeks as she shook him awake. She said something, but his half-coherent brain couldn't quite register it; the feeling of her hand pressing against his forehead was cool. A dull ache lingered in his chest after her touch faded away, but this was rectified only minutes later by a chilled compress being pressed to his face.

"... have to get up, Koushi, come on," his mother urged, and somehow he managed to shakily pull himself to his feet. Getting up the stairs again proved easier now with his mother to steady him; once they reached the bed, he practically collapsed.

"Mom..." His voice sounded funny; the words refused fly off his tongue the way he wanted them to, and a part of him wasn't even sure his mother could understand him. "Are you... 'kay?"

His mother looked pale; her grey eyes were wide, and she was digging her fingernails into her collarbone -- something she ever only did when she was anxious. Suga had to be more coherent than he thought, because his mother still managed to give him a soft smile.

"I'm alright," she replied, setting a new glass of water on the table. "Just worried about you."

As much as Suga yearned to tell her that she shouldn't worry, the words stuck in his mouth like paste. He frowned deeply, smacking his lips to try to rid himself of the dryness, but something being pressed into his palm distracted him.

"Tylenol," his mother urged, brushing sweat from her son's brow. "Take it, Koushi."

Obediently, Suga managed to swallow the pill down; the water was blissful running down his throat. After several eager mouthfuls, his mother had to pull the glass away before he choked.

"Your father will be home soon," she promised, and kissed him again. Suga's vision wavered as he watched her turn, slipping from the room and leaving the door ajar in her wake.

With his mother gone, he was alone. His eyes drifted up to his ceiling -- plaster, littered with cracks and imperfections in the paint job that almost looked like a work of art if you squinted -- and he allowed himself to drift away. Sleep, once again, claimed him before he even realized he was falling.


	11. nausea/vomiting - kasamatsu yukio

His entire body shuddered as he hunched over the ground, wooden bench digging into his abdomen. The pressure was hard and unforgiving, but it felt good – he needed it right now. Somehow he felt as if the pressure might alleviate the nausea steadily encroaching on him, squeezing his lungs tight and all but suffocating him.

He couldn’t be sick. Not now, when a match was literally in progress, and the success of Kaijou in the tournament relied on his performance. In no possible way could he allow himself to be sick.

It was the middle of the game, he coached himself. Twenty more minutes on the court, playing as hard as he could – he could handle that. There was no way he couldn’t handle that.

His stomach convulsed again, and Kasamatsu unashamedly spit another mouthful of watery saliva to the ground. Shakily, he shifted his weight onto his knees and made an attempt to rise to his feet. Almost immediately, a sharp cramp shot through him and he wound up doubled over again.

He couldn’t do this. He _couldn’t_. He couldn’t even walk.

 _Useless_ , his mind hissed at him, and he bit his lip to keep from whimpering both out of pain and frustration. Letting your team down again. This has become a habit, Yukio. What a captain you make…

Gritting his teeth, he slammed his fist down onto the wooden bench. His stomach gurgled again, loudly, and he belched out loud. Somehow this only made his stomach feel worse; it was all he could do to hold himself back from gagging.

Nausea was beginning to swell within him, like the steady rise and flow of a tide. He was going to throw up, he realized, and he _knew_ it with every fiber of his being. He had to get somewhere else. He had to get to the toilets, or the showers – but he couldn’t get up.

He didn’t want to be sick here, but there wasn’t any other choice. Curling up, he pressed both hands over his stomach and fought the urge to belch again. It wouldn’t do him any good, and would probably just make him sicker.

His stomach churned once more, gurgling loudly in the silent room. Leaning his head against the locker behind him, Kasamatsu squeezed his eyes shut against the swell of nausea steadily rising in his chest, bringing with it something hot and acrid that he desperately pushed back down.

 _Don’t be sick,_ he prayed silently. _Don’t be sick, please don’t be sick, don’t, please…_

 _“SENPAI?_ Where are you?”  


And just like that, his situation went from bad to worse. Kise Ryouta was the absolute last person he wanted to deal with in this state. Everything about Kise – from his loudness to his oblivious to his tendency to blow things out of proportion – would only make his condition even more miserable than it already was, and Kasamatsu couldn’t swallow back a groan.

This, unfortunately, alerted Kise to his location. He charged forward like an overly-sunshiney herd of elephants, footsteps stilling when he spotted his upperclassman curled up on the floor.

“Senpai?” His voice was quizzical, concerned. “What are you doing down there? Halftime’s about to –”  


“Go away.” Kasamatsu waved his arm, burping queasily into the air. “ _Go_ – just go away, please.”  


Kise did the opposite, kneeling in front of him. “Kasamatsu-senpai, you’re sick.”

“I know, just –” He had to press a hand over his mouth, no longer trusting himself to speak. Kise’s eyebrows furrowed even more, and Kasamatsu was unable to help cringing when the boy reached out to lay a hand upon his shoulder.  


“Come on,” Kise urged softly. “Let’s get you someplace better.”  


He didn’t want to go anywhere with Kise. He didn’t want any of his teammates seeing him like this, but especially not Kise, their arrogant and oddly endearing ace. He didn’t want the younger boy to think of him as weak – no way would he ever gain his respect that way, or have a right to demand it.

But he couldn’t move on his own. If Kise didn’t help him, he just knew he was going to wind up being sick all over himself on the floor, and that was truly pathetic.

Kise’s hand was extended, face open and earnest. Shakily, Kasamatsu took it.

With Kise’s help, he managed to stumble over to the showers. As soon as his feet hit tile he was slumping against the wall, barely able to keep himself upright. The movement had caused his stomach to revolt, nauseous belches slipping from his lips as his stomach burbled. Kise stood back against the nearest row of lockers, eyes downcast; Kasamatsu was grateful for the privacy as his stomach gave a sudden heave.

It was quick, and then it was over. One gag brought up a thick surge of vomit, his lunch from earlier mixed in with the water he’d tried to hydrate himself with during the game. It tasted bitter, but his stomach felt blissfully empty for it. With a shaky sigh, he slumped against the wall again, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m – I’m done,” he said, but Kise had already moved forward to help him out. Allowing the ace to support him, Kasamatsu stumbled out of the shower and gratefully sunk down on the nearest bench, hunching over with his eyes shut. He really was tired.  


Kise lingered for a few moments, hand running in small, soothing circles over his back; Kasamatsu was surprised at how grateful he was for the company. Eventually Kise would have to go back upstairs, and inform the rest of the team that their captain would not be returning. For now, at least, Kasamatsu was glad not to be alone.


	12. nausea/vomiting - kuroo tetsurou

**AN: the world can never have enough suffering kuroo tetsurou, and i love to torture**

**I really hope you feel better, bby! Try to drink lots of fluids – even if you can’t keep them down, at least you’re keeping yourself hydrated.**

They’re midway through dinner when Kuroo’s stomach groans loudly enough to carry across the room – not just to Kenma, sitting a booth across from him, but to several neighboring couples who shoot him quick sideways glances. Kuroo’s face flushes, and he hastily turns his eyes down to the meal in front of him.

Kenma doesn’t ask then. When it happens again, however, and another time after that, he seems to have had enough. It’s probably because of the people beginning to glance concernedly their way, but Kuroo likes to think he’s actually worried.

“If you’re that hungry,” Kenma says, “eat.”  


Kuroo’s been doing little more than picking at his food all through dinner. Even glancing at it now, he shakes his head, frowning. His stomach gives an odd twinge as he looks at the burger, and he can’t imagine anything more unappetizing.

“It’s not that. My stomach just feels weird.”  


Kenma stares at him, catlike eyes gleaming gold in the crummy restaurateur lighting. Kuroo can meet his gaze for only a few seconds as the other boy studies him; even after all these years, he hasn’t totally gotten used to Kenma’s habit of scrutinizing people.

“Try eating something, at least,” Kenma says after a moment. “It might help you feel better.”  


Kuroo really doesn’t want to – but he hasn’t eaten much all day, and he sees the sound logic in Kenma’s words. Maybe putting something in his stomach will help to settle it – or at least quell the embarrassing growling noises.

He steels himself, reaches down, and picks up the burger. It tastes like cardboard in his mouth; but Kenma looks appeased, at least, so that’s one small victory.

* * *

Kuroo tries to be discreet as he muffles a burp into his fist, but it doesn’t work. His stomach is already groaning loud enough to wake the dead. Kenma is too smart for his own good – he’s undoubtedly realized that something’s wrong by now, even if he keeps his nose buried in his game.

Kuroo wishes he didn’t have to be the one driving them home, but he’s the only one who knows how. He also knows that eating at the restaurant was definitely a big mistake.

It’s not sitting well in his stomach at all, heavy and audibly gurgling under the strain of whatever is going on in Kuroo’s belly at the moment. His insides are roiling, a harshly nauseous feeling settled inside Kuroo like some venomous snake. Every so often little belches will burble up Kuroo’s throat, and he’s forced to muffle then against his fist.

The drive home isn’t long, but every twinge in his stomach seems to make it ten minutes longer. By the time they’re pulling into the driveway, Kuroo’s stomach has seemingly thrown itself into a full on revolt, and it’s a struggle to keep his breathing even as he manages to park the car.

Another burp, loud and sick, takes him by surprise. Kenma looks up sharply as Kuroo hunches forward, hands pressed over his mouth and stomach.

“Kuro,” he says quietly, “let’s go inside.”  


Kuroo responds with a pained whimper, and barely even reacts when Kenma undoes his seatbelt for him and comes around to open the driver’s side door.

* * *

“Oh god… Kenma, I feel – _uurrlp_ – bad, I feel _really_ bad.”  


Kuroo rubs his hands over his own belly, desperately trying to find some relief from the nausea plaguing him. He is curled up in the fetal position, just one light sheet shielding his body from the rest of the world, and his sickness isn’t letting up at all.

“Just keep breathing,” Kenma suggests. Perched on his knees on his side of the bed, he has a death grip on the game in his hands, and doesn’t look up. Kuroo isn’t offended; Kenma cares, in his own way. He’d helped him into the house, after all, and had been the one to get him the glass of water that now sits barely touched on their bedside table. Kenma doesn’t show he cares in loud gestures, warm touches, or empathetic looks; but he does care.  


Kuroo burps again wetly into his pillow, before letting out a miserable moan. He just wants the ache to go away; his entire body reverberates with the effect of the cramps in his stomach, and his dinner feels like it’s sitting worse every minute. Even more worrying, he’s not sure he has the energy to get up and push himself all the way to the bathroom.

As his stomach groans again, he realizes that he doesn’t have much of a choice. “Ke – _uuurp_ – Kenma… I need to get up…”

Kenma’s eyes widen as they flicker up to him. Kuroo isn’t surprised – he knows his face has probably gone a worrying shade of grey, and he feels on the borderline of throwing up. The urgency in his tone is transferred to Kenma’s movements – quick, almost jarring as he scampers off the bed and moves to help Kuroo up.

His belly groans again as he moves, and Kuroo wraps both arms around it. “Ohh,” he whimpers miserably, a nauseous hiccup escaping him. They can hardly move fast enough. By the time they reach the bathroom, a steady gurgle is emitting from Kuroo’s belly, and he claps a hand over his mouth as he kneels over the toilet.

“That’s counterproductive,” Kenma remarks, an aura of anxiety emanating from him as he hovers in the doorway.  


Kuroo belches thickly into his fist, ducking his head; he can feel the nausea moving up his chest, pushing with it a swell of something hot and thick. He only gets the chance to tear his hand away before he’s gagging, and suddenly a surge of vomit is pouring from his mouth and splashing into the bowl.

It doesn’t let up for the next few minutes; intermediate spurts of puking and heaving, followed by brief stretches of nausea that is almost preferable. By the time Kuroo is finally able to catch his breath again, sickness no longer threatening to sneak up on him, he is not surprised to see that Kenma no longer hovers in the doorway.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he leans against the wall and closes his eyes. His entire stomach still burns with pain, and his joints feel like they’re falling apart. His body is consumed by queasiness and exhaustion; he almost feels ready to doze off right there. Suddenly, the weight of something warm falls across his lap, and a hand shakes his shoulder lightly.

“Kuro.” Kenma is peering down at him, eyes wide. He looks paler than usual, Kuroo can’t help but think; a little shaky, as if just knowing Kuroo had been sick has shaken his whole foundation. “You can’t sleep here, come on.”  


Kuroo lets out a tired groan. His body feels too heavy to move, and his head is spinning. All he really wants to do is stay where his is and rest for a while, before the next wave inevitably hits.

Kenma is as determined as ever, in his own quiet way. He prods at Kuroo’s ribs, tugs his arms, even gives his hair a little yank just to get him moving. It takes no small amount of effort from both parties, but somehow they manage to get Kuroo off the bathroom floor and back in bed with minimal queasiness.

As soon as his head hits the pillows, all Kuroo really wants to do is sleep. Kenma has set up a kitchen bowl by their bedside in case of emergency, and his body feels far too drained for him to be able to stay awake any longer.

“Guess I really shouldn’t have eaten,” he slurs with a queasy little half-smile.  


Something unreadable crosses over Kenma’s face. “… sorry,” he mutters, voice so soft that Kuroo can barely hear it. Just as the other man is blinking in surprise, his boyfriend suddenly opens his arms wide and drapes them around Kuroo’s prone form.

Kuroo is never the little spoon. Kenma adores being cuddled, not cuddling; this is new, and not altogether unwelcome. Kuroo presses his face into Kenma’s soft belly and tries to hide his drunkenly giddy grin, failing.

“Not your fault,” he replies. Another bubble of acid rises in his throat, and he lets it out before he can stop himself; contrary to what he’d expected, it’s only a burp. Kenma’s fingers run slowly through his hair, other hand massaging Kuroo’s back as soothingly as possible. Kuroo nestles against the touch, trying to block out the feeling of nausea in his stomach in favor of the sensation of Kenma touching him.

“It’s alright, Kuro. I’m right here.”  



	13. nausea/vomiting - hazuki nagisa

There were a lot of things Ai still didn’t understand about Nagisa – his apparent habit of calling everyone, including him, “-chan” being the least of them. (Not even his own _mother_ called him “Ai-chan” – it was juvenile!)

Nagisa was almost aggressively outgoing, and he seemed to have a habit of making everyone he met his new best friend. Ai didn’t know what had put him in the Iwatobi swimmer’s sights – his friendship with Rin, maybe, but he hardly thought himself interesting enough to catch anyone’s attention next to someone like _Rin_. There had to have been something about him that had drawn Nagisa’s eye, however, as apparently the other boy had decided to make Ai his next target.

It had been strange texting Nagisa at first – a bit interesting, but strange at the same time, mostly because Ai had _no clue_ how Nagisa had gotten his number. The other boy was engaging, however, and with all the social tact Ai lacked he was able to keep up a running conversation.

Hanging out with Nagisa was something else. All the energy he couldn’t express in a single text message (though he did try his best) shone through in his actual character. In many ways, Ai was finding it impossible to keep up.

“Ooh, let’s go in here next!” Nagisa exclaimed, shifting course down the street to a boutique selling cute knick-knacks. Ai, being dragged along by the arm, could do little to refuse.

Bursting into the shop, Nagisa’s eyes were wide and glimmering with excitement. It was a nice little store, Ai had to admit; there were cute key chains being sold of aquatic animals, t-shirts and hats, stuffed animals, and even toys for kids. It looked like a souvenir shop, though Iwatobi was far from a tourist town. As it was, Nagisa’s attention was captured by a cute penguin phone case.

“That one is nice,” Ai mused, studying the case as Nagisa held it in his hands. “It’s a little expensive, but if it fits your phone–”

He cut off as a low, strange gurgle suddenly split the air. Brows furrowing, his eyes automatically went to his stomach, before shifting to Nagisa’s. That hadn’t been him, so it could have only been the other boy.

Nagisa had one hand resting over his belly, lips pursed in a frown. “Are you hungry?” asked Ai curiously, only to be met with a slight shake of his head.

“No… I’m not.”

Ai tilted his head, frowning; his curiosity was only met with a furrowed-brow expression from Nagisa, who was rubbing tiny circles over his own belly. He opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a burp, short, sharp, and surprisingly nauseous. Ai drew back in surprise as Nagisa’s eyes widened.

“Heh heh… sorry! My stomach just feels a little funny…” He swallowed hard, nervous smile stil fixed in place. “Ai-chan,” he said quietly, “do you think there’s a bathroom here?”

…

Nagisa looked like he was reeling as he slowly sank to the ground at the base of the toilet, knees hitting the tile floor hard. Ai, finding himself at a loss as to what to do, swallowed as he knelt at the other boy’s side.

“Are you going to be sick?”

Nagisa, who by now had both hands pressed over his mouth, nodded. His smile from before had vanished under the force of mounting queasiness; his face was screwed up, almost as if he wanted to cry. It was clear from the nausea shaking his frame, causing him to tremble with apparent chills, that he was being hit hard with whatever sort of illness this was.

As Ai tentatively touched Nagisa’s back, a wet burp gurgled from the boy’s throat. He let out a soft moan. “Ahh, Ai-chan, I feel _really_ bad. My stomach hurts!”

Ai had no clue how to help. “Just take deep breaths,” he urged, massaging the other boy’s back through his sunshine-yellow sweatshirt. “Breathe in and out…”

Nagisa attempted to take a deep breath, but it cut off with a wet hiccup. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head hastily and kept his hands pressed over his mouth. “I can’t… I feel queasy…”

Ai bit his lip, really not eager to see Nagisa be sick. However, as the boy doubled forward over the bowl, what was about to happen because increasingly evident.

Nagisa’s ribcage contracted as he heaved once, twice, three times; nothing came up. A low moan escaped him as he spat into the bowl, a string of spit hanging from his mouth. Ai continued to rub his back in smooth strokes, patting it in the hope of bringing something up. Nagisa belched again loudly and whimpered.

“Just let it out, it’s easier…”

Nothing about this looked easy, Ai had to admit. Nagisa suddenly belched sharply again, a gurgling sound in his throat all the warning either of them got before a thick slew of brown liquid was splashing into the toilet. Ai drew back was a tiny gasp as Nagisa lurched forward, both hands clutching the sides of the toilet as his stomach contracted violently.

Once he had finally caught his breath, he let out a quiet moan. “Oh man…”

With Nagisa seemingly finished, Ai felt it safe to try and rub his back again. He was surprised by just how much the other boy leaned into the touch, savoring it like some sort of miracle cure for the nausea still causing him to tremble.

“You’ll be okay,” Ai muttered; privately, he really hoped that was true.


	14. salmonella - iwaizumi hajime + hashimoto kazuma

“Ahh…”  


The sudden noise from his boyfriend startled Tooru so much that he was immediately turning his head, frowning as he noticed Iwaizumi’s fist pressed tightly over his stomach. His face was contorted in a grimace, teeth bared and brow furrowed. Tooru sat up a bit straighter at the look of pain etched across his boyfriend’s features.

“Iwa-chan, you okay?” he asked, inching his desk chair across the floor to where Iwaizumi sat on his bed. His boyfriend’s eyes flickered up to him momentarily before they shut with another grunt of pain.  


Now he was concerned. Reaching out to him, Oikawa’s hand came to rest on his boyfriend’s knee. “Iwa-chan. Hey.”

Brushing him off, Iwaizumi shook his head. “It’s just… my stomach. Really hurts bad for some reason. Shit,” he groaned as another cramp took hold of him. Tooru abandoned his chair entirely, moving to sit next to his boyfriend as he seemed to shrink in pain.

“It just started now?”  


“It just got bad now,” Iwaizumi corrected, taking a shuddery breath. Iwaizumi generally had a pretty strong tolerance for pain; whatever this was had to be hurting him immensely. “And I feel queasy, too… dammit…”  


“You don’t think you ate something bad, do you?” Oikawa fussed, hands wordlessly urging his boyfriend to lie down. Iwaizumi complied, curling up in the fetal position on Oikawa’s bed with both arms wrapped around his stomach. Oikawa watched his back tense again, and bit down on his lower lip hard. He hated seeing Iwaizumi in pain.  


“I dunno… maybe? Not sure…” Iwaizumi huffed, pressing his face into the pillow.

Tooru’s brow furrowed, discontent written across his face. Iwaizumi was sick, and he didn’t know what to do about it. This was definitely not a feeling he liked.

* * *

“Kazu, I think you have a fever.”  


Curled up on the couch, both arms wrapped around his cramping belly, Haruki’s boyfriend looked up. There was no trace of surprise on his face; only slight disappointment as Haruki’s cool hand pulled away from him.

“Do I? I couldn’t tell,” he replied quietly, before tilting his head back against the couch again. His eyes fluttered shut, and Haruki felt a new wave of concern seize him.  


“Does your stomach still hurt?”  


“Hmm,” Kazuma answered, and with it came a queasy burp that had him pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, cheeks flushing a slight pink. “Ahh. Sorry, it just…”  


“Slipped out,” Haruki finished. Reaching out, he laid a hand on the heated skin of Kazuma’s stomach. It was bloated, swelling out against the waist of his jeans, and gurgled loudly under his palm. Haruki couldn’t help wincing, and he knew Kazuma noticed.  


“Heh… Haru, just be glad it’s not your belly. It feels a lot worse than it sounds.”  


Biting his lip, Haruki couldn’t help the pang of shame that shot through him. This wasn’t the time to be giving in to his own weak stomach. Kazuma needed him to be there right now.

* * *

Tooru stumbled back as Iwaizumi quite literally waved him away, almost hitting him as his hand swung wildly towards the bathroom door.

“Could you just – ugh.” He hiccuped queasily, head ducking over the toilet bowl, before he swung his hands again. “Just get out? I really don’t want you to see this…”  


“Iwa-chan, it’s okay! I can help!”  


Iwaizumi snarled something through his teeth that may or may not have been coherent words. If they were, Tooru thought, they were probably swear words; the next second Iwaizumi was letting out a pained yell, gripping his stomach with both hands.

_“Iwa–”_  


_“No!”_ Iwaizumi hissed, head snapping up so quickly that Tooru was instantly retreating. He wasn’t a fool; he knew not to provoke an angry Iwa-chan when he saw one, and the Iwaizumi sitting in front of him now was agitated enough to be unpredictable.  


“Just – _don’t_. Just –” Iwaizumi belched again wetly, groaning as his forehead came to rest against the toilet rim. His breaths were shuddering and short; when he spoke again, Tooru felt his heart snag in his throat.  


“Please just give me some space. I’m sick – I’m really, _really_ sick.”  


* * *

Needless to say, Haruki was terrified out of his mind when Kazuma suddenly lurched forward on the couch with what sounded like a sharp cough, hand clamped over his mouth.

“K- Kazu?” he stammered, rushing to his boyfriend’s side as he shuddered, leaning towards the ground. Kazuma shook his head desperately, unable to speak; Haruki realized what was about to happen only a second before it did, and by then he was too late.  


As Kazuma puked his stomach contents out on the carpet, Haruki rushed to grab something – anything. He settled with a plastic pitcher from the kitchen, probably meant to be used to hold lemonade or something of the like. Now, it would be used to save their upholstery; a noble mission, Haruki decided as he hastily passed it off to his ailing boyfriend.

Kazuma had his face buried in the pitched just as the next round of puking hit, leaving him gagging and struggling to catch breath that would not come to him. Haruki held him still, stroking his back and soothing him as all he’d eaten in the past few days seemed to rush up to him at once. Kazuma managed to let out a strangled sob.

“It’s okay,” Haruki urged. “Just take a deep breath.”  


* * *

“Just keep breathing, Iwa-chan. You’ll be okay.”  


As soon as he’d started heaving, Iwaizumi had given up the effort to keep Tooru away; Tooru had just as quickly given up staying away. Now, hunched at Iwaizumi’s side as he gagged into the toilet, Tooru stroked his boyfriend’s back comfortingly and wondered just where they had gone wrong.

Had it been dinner last night? No, they’d had pizza, and Tooru felt just fine. Maybe it had been lunch? But Iwaizumi had eaten at work, so Tooru didn’t even know what he’d had…

“Hey. Spaceykawa.” A sudden jab to the gut dragged him back to reality, and Tooru started to find a ashen-faced Iwaizumi looking balefully at him. Immediately he is attentive, a hand rubbing small circles between Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades as the other brushed sweat from his reddened face.  


“It’s okay, Iwa-chan,” he soothed. “I’m right here…”  


“Yeah. I can – uurp – see that.” Iwaizumi sighed, brow furrowing deeply as presumably another cramp ran through him. “I feel like shit… help me get me to bed. Please.”  


Tooru blinked. Iwaizumi asking for help was unusual in itself. Iwaizumi willing to admit that he couldn’t do something on his own, and asking Tooru of all people for assistance was practically a miracle. Iwaizumi sick enough to be reduced to asking Tooru for help getting to bed was terribly worrying.

Tooru bit his lip hard before sitting up straighter, nodding. He pressed a soft kiss to Iwaizumi’s heated temple before rising to his feet, tucking his arms under Iwaizumi’s. “On three, Iwa-chan. Ready?”

Iwaizumi gave a grunt of affirmation, and that was enough for Tooru. Good Boyfriend Mode had officially kicked in, and he wasn’t about to let Iwaizumi down.

* * *

Hand stroking lazily over Kazuma’s bloated belly as he hiccuped and whimpered softly against his chest, Haruki let out a sigh.

He hated seeing Kazuma sick. He wasn’t sure there was anything he hated more in the world, or anything that made him feel more helpless. Not heights, not public speaking, not even showing up to school in his underwear – nothing was worse than seeing Kazuma suffering and being unable to help him.

“It’s okay,” Haruki soothed softly as Kazuma let out a hiccup. “You’re okay.”  


It had taken Kazuma a while to stop throwing up. By the time he did, his abdominal distress was so great that he’d wanted to do nothing more than curl up and feel miserable. Haruki allowed this, stroking through Kazuma’s hair as they lay side by side in bed together.

Normall, Haruki loved times like this – cuddling in bed, just the two of them. Not when Kazuma was like this, though.

Kazuma burped softly against his collarbone, then tilted his head up to look in Haruki’s eyes. “Feel really… sick, Haru,” he muttered, and Haruki let out another gentle coo.

“It’s okay, Kazu,” he soothed, even though it wasn’t. Kazuma was sick, Haruki couldn’t help him, and it really wasn’t okay at all.  



	15. fever/migraine - iwaizumi hajime

**AN: this one really made me feel like a bad person**

He was warmer than Oikawa had thought he would be. Either the medication wasn’t working or Iwaizumi needed another dose of medicine. When Oikawa had left him in bed, it had been with the hope that his boyfriend’s fever was beginning to drop; touching him now, it was clear that it was as high as ever, and maybe even rising.

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” he crooned, pressing a wet washcloth to the sick boy’s forehead. “You’re a mess, aren’t you?”  


Iwaizumi hummed and shifted in bed, eyes screwed shut. Oikawa had done all he could – drawn the windows, turned off the lights, even tiptoed around the house – but he could do little to help the severity of the migraine his boyfriend was suffering from on top of a rising temperature.

Seeing Iwaizumi lying in bed so motionless and pale made a sick feeling churn in Oikawa’s stomach. Iwaizumi looked as if the life had been drained out of him; his strong boyfriend wasn’t supposed to seem so weak.

“Say something, please. So I know you’re still with me.”  


“I–” Iwaizumi started, but cut himself off with a low groan. “Shit… hurts so bad…”  


“Oh, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s throat felt a little tight as he curled up beneath the sheets, drawing his sick boyfriend into his arms. Iwaizumi neither struggled or embraced the gesture; his head rested limply on Oikawa’s bicep, but at least he didn’t try to pull away. Much as he knew his body heat couldn’t be helping the feverish boy much, he didn’t feel right _not_ touching Iwaizumi when he was this sick.  


The amount of times Iwaizumi had looked after Oikawa when he’d worked himself into a hole or contracted some sickness from staying up for days were uncountable. Iwaizumi was always there for him, always ready to look after him.

Now that it was Oikawa’s turn, he felt helpless in the worst way.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered into the other man’s hair. “Your fever will break, and you’ll be fine…”

 _“Hurts,”_ Iwaizumi moaned again, rough fingernails digging into the skin of Oikawa’s thigh as he struggled to find something to grasp. Oikawa allowed it, in spite of the pain that spiked where his boyfriend’s nails cut into his flesh.  


He couldn’t imagine the pain Iwaizumi was going through, but he knew it had to be unbearable; he’d described it earlier, in a more lucid moment, as “bombs going off in his head”. Now he could feel his boyfriend trembling against him, breaths coming out ragged, and all Oikawa could do was hold him.

It took him a few minutes to realize that the whimpering noises escaping Iwaizumi’s throat wasn’t him struggling to breathe. The hitching of Iwaizumi’s shoulders wasn’t from the fever, and the growing wet spot on Oikawa’s chest where Iwaizumi had his face buried was not sweat at all.

“Oh, Iwa-chan!” he gasped – louder than he should have – as he pulled his boyfriend even closer, smothering the crown of his head in kisses. “Please don’t cry, please stop… please, Iwa-chan, please…”  


Iwaizumi let out another shuddering sob, twining both arms around his boyfriend’s chest and squeezing tightly. “Hurts so bad… think I’m dying, Tooru…”

“You’re not dying. I promise. You’re going to be fine…”  


Oikawa felt so damn helpless, and it both infuriated him and terrified him. There wasn’t anything he could do for his boyfriend besides care for him and comfort him. He couldn’t take away his pain. Iwaizumi, the strongest person he knew, was sobbing out of agony and delirium in his arms, and Oikawa could do _nothing_.

All he was able to do was rock him, soothe him, and wait. His fever had to break soon – it _had_ to.


	16. nausea/vomiting - iwaizumi hajime

It was a romantic comedy, and even though neither of them had any real interest in seeing it – Iwaizumi always got ready during romantic comedies, while Oikawa fell asleep – it had received a glowing review from Oikawa’s sister. Tomiko being a notorious film-snob, this was all the encouragement the couple needed to get out of the house that Friday night and go see a movie.

“This theatre is way more crowded than I expected,” Iwaizumi remarked, settling down in his seat. Oikawa nodded, passing the popcorn off to his boyfriend as he sat next to him. It had been a challenge just to find two seats together; the entire theatre seemed to be packed with couples tonight.

“I hope this film’s good,” he mused, snatching up a piece of popcorn before passing the bucket off to Iwaizumi. “Not that I think my sister would set us up with a joke film again –”

“She might.”

“But not on Valentine’s Day,” Oikawa clarified, rolling his eyes. Even he trusted his sister more than that.

Besides, it was nice to just spend a day out with Iwaizumi; it wasn’t an opportunity they got often, with both of them being so busy with work. Iwaizumi in particular had been putting in extra hours at the hospital for his residency; Oikawa joked that it was a wonder he hadn’t picked up some awful illness by now.

Come to think of it, Iwaizumi seemed pretty quiet tonight. It was just stress, Oikawa decided; that would explain the bags under his eyes, the way he kept shifting as if he couldn’t seem to hold still for long, and even his stuff posture. His boyfriend might be forgetting how to relax. Oikawa decided that later he would have to give Iwaizumi a very through reminder.

As the movie started up on the screen, Oikawa reached for Iwaizumi’s hand. Fingers twining together, it was a moment before Iwaizumi squeezed back; but he did, and Oikawa’s heart felt light.

It was a funny movie; filled with good actors portraying solid characters, and a plot just on the right side of predictable. It wouldn’t leave Oikawa lost in thought afterwards, but it was pleasant for a holiday movie. Oikawa found himself chuckling more than once, even if the seat next to him was distinctly quiet.

It would have been easier to enjoy the movie if Iwaizumi would have just stopped _shifting_. How did he have so much energy? He kept moving around, huffing to himself, dislodging Oikawa as he shifted to make himself comfortable. Every few minutes brought a new movement, and it was quickly getting under Oikawa’s skin.

Without warning, just as the movie was getting to a good part, Iwaizumi bolted upright. Oikawa reeled around, by now more than a little annoyed, to turn a scowl on the other man.

“Iwa-chan, _what_ are you –”

“Mmm.” Hand over his stomach, it seemed to be taking all of Iwaizumi’s effort to breathe evenly. For the first time, Oikawa realized just how sweaty his boyfriend looked; his skin shone, droplets trailing down his cheeks and neck.

Iwaizumi looked… _sick._

Oikawa started to say something, but Iwaizumi cut him off as a sharp noise suddenly escaped him. He clamped a hand over his mouth, lurching forward; eyes squeezed shut, and he was trembling when Oikawa laid a hand on his arm.

“Really, are you –”

 _“No.”_ That was all Iwaizumi could get out; really, it was a miracle he’d managed that much. The next moment he was lurching forward, a sharp belch escaping his lips that carried with it a splash of something wet. Oikawa’s legs shot up from the floor; he practically cringed into his seat, eyes wide as his boyfriend suddenly unleaded a flood of vomit all over the movie theatre floor.

Iwaizumi’s back heaved, his head connecting with the seat in front of him more than once as he continued to be sick. As screams began to ring out across the theatre, Oikawa found himself paralyzed. There was nothing to do; there were no words to express the horror that came with witnessing your boyfriend vomit in the middle of a crowded theatre.

He blinked up at the screen dimly as next to him Iwaizumi continued to heave. Romantic comedy, he thought. Hah. More like romantic tragedy.

“You’re fine, Iwa-chan,” he encouraged flatly as the gagging began to die off. In spite of the hand running up and down Iwaizumi’s back, he was still not quite able to look his boyfriend in the eye. “Just keep going. Get it out. Literally nothing left to lose now.”

Iwaizumi’s dignity was long gone, at least. Was this even something you could recover from? Would Iwaizumi even be able to show his face in public again?

By the time Iwaizumi finally slumped back in his seat, every eye in the theatre was on him. Oikawa was sure he even saw someone with their camera light on, to whom he sent a harsh glare and a rude gesture. As Iwaizumi trembled, Oikawa rose from his seat – careful not to get any mess on his shoes.

“Come on, then,” he said to the sick boy. “It’s definitely time to go.”


	17. stuffing/vomiting - terushima yuuji

“Wow,” Terushima moaned, dipping his head back and running both hands over the swell of his stomach. Beneath his t-shirt, there was a noticeable bulge that had not been there before; his stomach, packed tightly with lunch, felt so heavy that he wasn’t even sure he could sit up. “I ate _way_ too much!”

“You didn’t have to shove the entire bag of chips in your mouth at once,” Bobata pointed out, smirking; his point was dismissed with a wave of Terushima’s hand.

“Not the _whole_ bag – I didn’t eat the plastic.”

“Could you eat plastic though? Would that be possible?” Bobata mused on this question with all the seriousness it entailed. “I think it’d be pretty cool.”

“We can try that… tomorrow…” Terushima burped thickly into his fist. Ignoring his friend’s snort, he drummed lightly on his belly with his hand. “Ahh, damn, I feel so stuffed…”

“Don’t cram your face during lunch, then,” his friend retorted. “You know we have gym next.”

“Ugh. Couldn’t we just skip it?” This was something, coming from Terushima – usually gym was his favorite class. Today, however, he just couldn’t envision himself running around the gymnasium as full as he was without getting fantastically sick everywhere. While it was an interesting mental image, he wasn’t eager to experience it firsthand.

“Whoa, don’t you remember what the principal said? You might not be on attendance probation, but _I_ am. You want to skip, skip alone.”

“Ahh, but that’s no fun!” Terushima dipped his head back again, giving a soft hiccup, before jerking upright once more. “Hey, you think Arata might –”

“He’s not here today.”

“Oh.” Running a hand over his convex stomach again, Terushima looked deep in thought; until he finally heaved a sigh and seemed to give up.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’m sure I’ll have all this digested by gym time anyway!” He gave his belly a light smack; Bobata mirrored the gesture, causing the stuffed boy to let out a gurgling burp.

“You’d better be ready,” Bobata goaded. “I still have to kick your butt for last class, remember? You’d better be in good shape to lose.”

Terushima narrowed his eyes, straightening his shoulders. He wasn’t worried at all; he’d be ready, without a doubt.

* * *

In gym they were playing basketball, which had most of the class overjoyed. Basketball was a class favorite, and was easy for the kids to play and the gym teacher to supervise.

Terushima was happy too. Basketball was an energetic game that he was great at, involving lots of running… and jumping… and moving around…

So _maybe_ the thought made his stomach churn a bit. That didn’t mean anything, he told himself; he didn’t even feel full to bursting anymore (though the heavy feeling in his belly was still there). It wasn’t like he was going to sit out; not when Bobata was practically bouncing on his heels to challenge him. Terushima had his pride, and he wasn’t going to let his friend beat him by default.

Terushima jumped into the game with vigor. It was a challenge to ignore the heaviness in his stomach as he ran down the court; he could feel it gurgling in dissatisfaction with each step. Still, he managed to steal the ball from Bobata and perform a shot that had his friend glaring at him.

“Oh, you’re going down!”  


“Bring it!” Terushima shot back, swallowing back a burp at the end of his words. He couldn’t ingore the rising sensation of queasiness; all this running was doing him no favors, but at least it was _fun_.  


Bobata made a shot, but Terushima managed to catch the ball in mid-air. Jumping, he slammed the basketball through the hoop and managed to cling to the rim for a second before dropping.

He hit the ground hard, and shockwaves coursed through his body. _That_ had been his mistake – he was, he realized too late, in no shape to jump.

There was little warning before his stomach gave a sudden jump. Terushima felt hot bile rise in his chest; in an instant he had doubled forward, both hands wrapped around his swollen, aching belly.

Bobata scored another basket before realizing something was wrong. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, drawing to a stop next to Terushima.

“I don’t…” The other boy’s face was drawn and pale. His eyes widened as a sick belch bubbled from his throat, bringing with it a surge of something thick. That was the only warning he got before he was gagging; suddenly his entire front was coated in damp stickiness, and he could feel more vomit spilling out of his mouth.  


He couldn’t help himself, and he couldn’t stop puking. He doubled over, unleashing the next torrent on the ground instead of all over himself; but his gym clothes were ruined, and now the court was a mess. He heard Bobata swearing in the background, someone was patting his back, but all Terushima could think was that this was _so not awesome_.

By the time he was finished, his stomach felt hollow; everything that had been in there had just evacuated in a flood of sick. He slumped forward, nearly winding up in the puddle before him until someone pulled him back. He wound up wavering on his feet, Bobata’s hands on his shoulders keeping him from collapsing.

The entire gym class was gaping at him, varying expressions of shock and horror decorating their faces. The coach was making a call to the nurse via the wall speaker. Even Bobata was keeping his distance, nose wrinkled at the mess drenching his friend.

“I think –” Terushima said, hiccuping. “I think I wanna go sit down. Somewhere… somewhere else.”  


Anywhere not here – not in front of all these people. He liked the limelight, but there was no question that this was far too much.


	18. nausea/vomiting - p. much all of karasuno

If the meat buns tasted a little off, no one noticed at the time. They were all just more than happy to get to eat something on the way to their training camp; the food was appreciated, and not a scrap was left on the bus as the teenagers devoured every last crumb.

That this was a mistake became obvious by the last leg of their trip. Suffering was beginning to become apparent in several members of the team – Yamaguchi was leaning his face against the cool window, as he gripped his stomach, while Hinata’s face had gone gray, and Yachi wouldn’t seem to stop burping into her hands.

“Ah, I’m so sorry!” she would exclaim after every one to Kiyoko, sitting next to her. “I didn’t mean to – it’s just my stomach, I think!”

“Maybe it’s upset,” Kiyoko replied with furrowed brows. She was a vegetarian; she hadn’t eaten the meat buns, but she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Yachi had a sensitive stomach. Yachi nodded, looking very small hunched over in her seat; Kiyoko felt a tug on her heartstrings as she began to run the other girl’s back.

The rest of the sick first years weren’t getting as much sympathy.

“Do not puke on me, I swear,” Kageyama muttered, casting Hinata a wary look as he drew his knees up to his chest. Hinata glared, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t considering it; his stomach felt upset, in a way that nerves usually weren’t able to do any longer. He could feel the contents of his belly churning, bubbling ominously. It was impossible not to worry about being sick, when he was feeling so terrible.

“I’m not going to,” he muttered, but a low gurgle punctuated his words, and he winced.

From where Tsukishima was watching this all across the aisle, he felt a spike of anxiety that nearly felt like nausea himself. “Yamaguchi,” he said, nudging his friend, and the sick boy next to him groaned.

“What is it, Tsukki?”

“What if those meat buns weren’t good? What if there was something wrong with them?”

Yamaguchi fell silent for a long moment, eyes trained out the window. His lack of response was hardly reassuring to his best friend at all; Tsukishima’s fingers dug into his knees as he glared at the seat in front of him, weighing the possibility. 

They hadn’t gotten the buns from Ukai’s shop this morning; they’d actually never visited this cafe before. It wouldn’t be out of the question for something to have been wrong with the meat – something that was now making Yamaguchi, Hinata, and Yachi ill. 

Tsukishima swallowed hard and frowned as his own stomach gave an unusual burble. If there really had been something wrong with the food they’d eaten… 

That would mean the entire Karasuno team ran the risk of getting sick.

* * *

By the time the bus drew to a halt outside of the school hosting the camp, the conditions of the first years had deteriorated. 

Yachi had gone from stifling her burps to now belching openly, head resting against Kiyoko’s shoulder. The other girl was obliging, running long fingers through her friend’s hair and not verbalizing her concern, even as Yachi’s back occasionally gave a small shudder. 

Hinata was worse. Curled up in his seat, he had both hands wrapped around his stomach. His face was an alarming shade of green. Anyone paying attention could tell he was about to be sick, and soon. Next to him, Kageyama was looking more than a little frightened – if anyone was within range to be puked on, it was him. 

Once the coolness of the window had stopped helping, Yamaguchi had taken to hunching over and whimpering softly at the cramps rocking his core. At last, Tsukishima had been able to take no more. He half-guided, half-shoved Yamaguchi down into his lap. The boy had settled there easily, seeming grateful for a place to rest his head. He hadn’t stirred for the rest of the ride, but every so often would let out a wet burp as Tsukishima ran his hand in circles over the skin of his friend’s stomach. 

Other people were feeling queasy too. Kinoshita had started complaining of nausea not long ago, and Asahi was hunched over with both arms around his middle, his face a sickly pale. 

Sugawara had made himself busy – flitting back and forth between teammates, checking on their conditions and making sure no one else was feeling sick. Some people could barely even answer; others just moaned weakly and replied that _of course_ they felt sick.

By the time he finally got a chance to rest – in the seat next to Daichi he’d vacated an hour ago – he didn’t have a clue what to say.

“This… is bad,” he decided on at last, and next to him Daichi gave a hum of agreement. The team captain sounded so resigned to his own fate; after the stomach flu debacle of a few months ago, Suga wouldn’t be surprised if this incident finally drove him to just give up entirely. 

It was obvious that the majority of the team was starting to suffer from food poisoning – the result of what could only have been bad meat. Suga bit his lip hard, eyes wandering over to the empty box that had once held enough meat buns to feed the entire team. The only team members who  _hadn’t_ eaten them had been Kiyoko and himself; Hinata and Nishinoya had eaten two each. 

Their team was doomed. 

“Oh man,” Sugawara moaned, torn between trying to comfort his ailing teammates and marveling at the catastrophe in front of him. “Daichi, what do we _do?”_  

Daichi responded with a low burp. 

“Daichi?” 

Turning his attention to his best friend for the first time in a few minutes, Suga was alarmed by the uneasy look on Daichi’s face. A hand hovered over his stomach, and he was frowning down at his lap in a way that could only suggest discomfort. Suga’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “Oh no…” 

Slowly, Daichi nodded. “Suga,” he said, “this is really, really bad.” 

* * *

Daichi’s breathing was heavy and labored. It was a challenge for Suga not to cringe away from the cacophony of sick noises emanating from his friend’s stomach, but he was determined; he’d promised to help Daichi when he wasn’t feeling well, and that was what he was going to do. Even as he felt Daichi’s stomach gurgle under his palm, he didn’t draw away and the other boy seemed relieved for it.

“Maybe you should go check on Hinata,” Daichi muttered, though it was obvious he didn’t want the other boy to leave. Suga just shook his head, knowing Hinata would be exactly where he’d left him earlier; in the closest bathroom stall, vomiting up his breakfast.

The classroom Karasuno had chosen to bed down in was filled, despite it being midday. Nearly the entire team was bedridden by this point. Nishinoya was writhing, clutching his bloated stomach; Tanaka had just let out what had to be his twelfth wet burp into his fist; Asahi looked like he’d died a little while ago; and Ennoshita continued to groan as he hugged his middle. The only people who weren’t in bed were the ones who hadn’t fallen victim to the food poisoning (at this time, only Kiyoko, Suga, and Tsukishima) or the ones who had already fled to a bathroom stall (Hinata, Yachi, Narita, and Kageyama).

Overall, it was a miserable spectacle, and very little could be done for any of the sufferers except to keep them comfortable and hydrated.

Tanaka waved off an exhasperated looking Tsukishima as he tried to force water on him. “No – hell no. Gonna puke.”

“If you don’t drink, you’ll get dehydrated, and then you could die.”

“Dying would be better than this,” the sick boy grunted, letting out another wet burp. Tsukishima’s nose crinkled in disgust as he made a hasty retreat back to Yamaguchi’s bedside.

His friend had yet to throw up yet, but he also hadn’t been able to make himself comfortable. He was still writhing in bed, cramps shooting through his entire body. It was a struggle for Yamaguchi to even talk to him, so Tsukishima had done him the favor of leaving him alone. Now, though, the boy seemed glad that he was back.

“C- can I have some of that water, Tsukki?” he requested. “I’m kinda thirsty…”

Tsukishima frowned. “Are you sure it won’t upset your stomach?”

“It’s already pretty upset,” replied Yamaguchi, giving a weak smile. As if to agree with him a low gurgle suddenly tore though the air, and the sick boy grimaced.

Tsukishima didn’t know what to do; as much as he hated seeing his best friend suffer, there wasn’t much of a way for him to help. He felt helpless, and he absolutely hated it.

“Umm, actually…” If possible, Yamaguchi’s face had paled even more. “Can we go somewhere else? Think I’m gonna be…”

He didn’t have to say another word. In a second Tsukishima was up and moving, hauling his friend to his feet and ushering him quickly around rows of futons out of the room.

They had no sooner made it into the hallway than Yamaguchi doubled over with a sharp gag; Tsukishima didn’t have time to reel back before his best friend was suddenly heaving up a surge of vomit all over the floor. Some of it splashed Yamaguchi’s shirt; a bit even got on Tsukishima’s shoes, and it was all he could do not to groan in revulsion. As Yamaguchi trembled and heaved, Tsukishima held him up and braced himself for the inevitable end.

“S- sorry,” Yamaguchi managed once he was through. He sounded genuinely pitiful; Tsukishima couldn’t be angry with him.

“It’s okay,” he replied. “You didn’t mean to.”

He couldn’t be angry because Yamaguchi was sick; and if the roiling feeling in his own stomach was any indication, Tsukishima might not be far off from his friend’s miserable state. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped an arm around Yamaguchi’s shoulders and continued leading him to the bathrooms. He would just have to bear it. That was all he could do.

* * *

By the time night set in, most of the team had fallen as well. Those who weren’t still in the bathrooms were engaged in fitful sleep (Hinata kept whimpering even in unconsciousness, and poor Yachi couldn’t seem to stop hiccuping). The three healthy team members were taking a short but well-deserved break, just a few moments to catch their breath in between nursing their ailing teammates.

That’s when it happened.

The massive burp that burst out of Tsukishima without warning had the remaining healthy members of the Karasuno team spinning to face him with wide, astonished eyes. Pressing a fist to his lips, Tsukishima glared back at them all; but the damage had been done.

“Wow, Tsukishima,” remarked Sugawara. “That was a big one.”

If Tsukishima’s glare could kill, Sugawara would have been a dead man, Never one to be deterred, he pressed on.

“Really, are you okay? You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine,” Tsukishima shot back, before hiccuping again.

Sugawara was no fool; Sugawara had just spent the better part of his day nursing sick-as-dogs teammates. A quick glance between himself and Kiyoko brought them to the silent agreement that he should be the one to deal with this. He was the one who rose to his feet and moved across the room, crouching at Tsukishima’s side. “Come on,“ he urged, offering the boy a hand. At first he ignored it; but then a gurgle of his stomach made him cringe, and he didn’t hesitate to follow his upperclassman out the front doors.

By this point, the bathroom was condemned; and Suga got the sense that Tsukishima would rather be sick somewhere private. As the ailing boy sunk to his knees in the grass, Suga ran a hand up and down the sharp curve of his back. “It’s okay,” he soothed, as Tsukishima gave a small shudder. “It’s okay. There’s no shame in it, you’re sick.”

“Don’t want to –” The younger boy’s voice was trembling. “Really don’t want – _auuURP.”_

“You’ve been fighting it off all day, huh,” Sugawara asked, and Tsukishima nodded. He felt a flash of sympathy for the poor boy, who either out of hubris or stubbornness hadn’t been able to admit that he was ill.

Tsukishima jerked with a small heave, pressing a hand to his mouth; Sugawara guided it away. “Okay, just relax. It’s going to happen, just –”

With one sharp gag, Tsukishima lurched forward. A stream of thick bile spilled out onto the grass in front of him. By now, this was a familiar sight; Sugawara didn’t even cringe as he continued to rub the boy’s back, soothing him through the worst of his sickness.

Today, he decided, had been an utter nightmare.

He really hoped tomorrow would dawn brighter; he wasn’t sure he could take another day of playing nurse to an entire team full of ailing crows.


	19. nausea/vomiting - kuroko tetsuya

He had made a poor job of hiding the damage done to the locker room as he stumbled in. Overturned bags littered the floor; his jersey had been discarded on one of the benches; and he hadn’t even closed the door all the way before beelining towards the toilets.

He wasn’t going to be sick, he insisted to himself. He just wasn’t. He would be fine.

They were bound to notice him missing at practice eventually, but he figured he had a good stretch of time before that would happen; even after a year together, his teammates were still prone to forgetting his existence. Sometimes it was irritating, but now Kuroko couldn’t be more glad. He needed some time to himself, just to… get himself back in order.

A sudden surge of nausea had him doubling forward with a heave. He clamped a hand over his mouth, doggedly holding his own mouth shut. _He wasn’t going to be sick._

He had no clue why he was feeling so awful – though he supposed in the end _why_ didn’t matter. His stomach was churning and curdling; it was all he could do to remember to breathe, swallowing back bitter-tasting mouthfuls of saliva.

Kuroko had never liked throwing up; it had never terrified him, exactly, but he had too many traumatic memories associated with it as a child. He’d always had a weak immune system, and had been prone to catching bugs pretty often – that was probably what _this_ was.

His stomach gave another flip, and a whimper escaped from behind his hand. He was weak-kneed with nausea; unable to even stay on his feet, he hit the tiled floor hard.

A sharp gag tore from him. He doubled in on himself, stabbing pains wracking his stomach. He almost felt like screaming; the pain was so _bad,_ and the nausea was overwhelming.

“Hey! Is someone down here?”

Kuroko felt his blood turn to ice. Why did he have to be discovered now? Even worse, it was obviously by chance – the voice hadn’t asked for him by name. Had Kuroko been clearheaded, he would have been able to recognize which teammate was close to discovering him. As it was, he clamped his hand tighter over his mouth and held his breath, silencing himself completely. If he could just not be noticed, if this intruder could pass by without spotting him –

A gag forced its way up his throat, bringing with it something wet that splashed in his mouth. He doubled forward over his lap, a high-pitched whimper escaping him.

“Kuroko? Whoa, _hey_ –”

He felt strong hands grasp his shoulders and spin him around so that he was hovering over the bowl. Just in time, too, for not a second later Kuroko tore his hand from his mouth and unleashed a thick surge of sick into the toilet.

“Okay. Ahh, damn, okay –”

As his teammate continued to pay him on the back, Kuroko belched up another mouthful of sickness. His eyes screwed shut; when he tried to open them, he found his vision too spotty to focus. His stomach gave a small jump, making him hiccup as he sunk away from the bowl.

“Hey. Hey, look up here.”

The obnoxious pawing at his chest was what finally forced him to open his eyes. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was Kagami holding him. In the back of his mind, he had known Kagami was the one who had come to help.

“Kagami-kun,” he rasped. Kagami blinked down at him, wide-eyed, and nodded.

“Shit, Kuroko, you scared me! Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick?”

The boy blinked up at him, ignoring the way his head was spinning. “Did anyone notice I was gone?”

Kagami said nothing; but by the shadow that crossed his face, Kuroko knew that no one had. It had been pure chance that Kagami had come to the locker room; pure chance that he’d found Kuroko and saved him from being sick all over himself.

“Kagami-kun,” he said again, “I don’t think I feel well.”

It didn’t matter. After all this time, he was used to being forgotten.


	20. fever - kuroko tetsuya

Kuroko was a scary guy.

This was a fact. There were a lot of times when he just gave Kagami – and by extension (presumably) the rest of the Seirin team – _chills_. From his blank eyed stare, to his casually harsh remarks, and that awful habit of materializing in front of people when they least expect it, Kuroko would have had a very easy time giving people heart attacks if he tried hard enough. At least everyone on the team had their own “scary-Kuroko” story; everyone had been terrified by Kuroko at least once.

 _This_ was on a whole new level of scary.

It was the rest of the team’s fault, really. Caught up in the adrenaline of their practice game, they hadn’t been paying much attention to their point guard aside from his passes. Kuroko was such a nonentity on the court that sometimes it was easy to forget he was even on the team. No one has noticed if his behavior was odd that day; if he was being quieter than usual, looking more flushed, or stumbling around in a haze any time they weren’t playing. Had it been anyone else, the team would have noticed in a minute; but this was Kuroko, and he was so easily missed that any illness just went over their heads completely.

Izuki was standing _right next to him_ – but even he was not paying enough attention to hear Kuroko’s thin whisper of “I feel so… I feel…”

The only time anyone noticed was when Kagami raised his hand to catch a pass that was not there.

Immediately the team’s ace stopped, blinking in bafflement at his own empty hands. There should have been a ball where there was none; it made no sense. There should have been _Kuroko_ where he was not, and in that moment his absence seemed to dawn on everyone at once.

Kagami turned, and his eyes landed on a figure crumpled on the ground on the other side of the court. His blood ran cold.

_“Kuroko!”_

By the time he reached the crumpled boy’s side, his heart felt ready to leap out of his throat. He could hear the pounding footsteps of the team behind him as he dropped to his knees, hands pawing at Kuroko. The sick boy’s head lolled, eyes firmly shut. His skin felt clammy, and a thin sheen of sweat shone upon his brow. Kagami patted his face gently, trying to rouse him into consciousness, but the only response he got was the continued rise and fall of his chest.

The next second Hyuuga was kneeling next to him, shouting for someone to bring them some water. Kagami didn’t see it arrive; the next thing he knew, liquid was being trickled over the sick boy’s forehead, and Kuroko let out a soft groan.

“Hey. Kuroko, wake up. Look at us.” Hyuuga patted Kuroko’s face lightly, his voice somewhere between comforting and commanding. Slow as molasses, Kuroko’s eyes cracked open.

“K- Kagami-kun?” he rasped, staring up at them hazily. “Captain?”

“You’ve got some fever there, Kuroko,” remarked Hyuuga. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I tried –” A shuddery laugh escaped Kuroko’s throat, and the sound left chills on Kagami’s arms. “No one heard me. I thought… it wasn’t so bad.”

“You just fainted in the middle of practice.”

“Did I?” Kuroko asked, and if this were an interesting piece of world news he was hearing about on the television. “How strange.”

“Freaking scary, you mean,” Kagami corrected, and Kuroko’s fever-bright gaze fixed on him.

“Kagami-kun, your… eyebrows are too loud,” he managed, and Kagami yelped as if he’d just been shot. That one had come out of left field, and it hit a sensitive topic too.

“Do you mean my voice?” Kuroko’s eyes had slipped closed again. “Dammit Kuroko, don’t just insult my eyebrows and not answer!”

“I apologize… I just feel… so sleepy.”

From across the gym, the voice of their coach rang out, demanding to know if he was responsive. Hyuuga called something back to her, but Kagami was focused on the boy on the ground. Kuroko just looked so small like this, so helpless. How could he have been this sick without anyone noticing? How could they, his _team_ not have realized what was wrong?

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. If they didn’t realize when one of their players was hurting and help him, were they really any better than Kuroko’s old Teikou team at all?

“Bring him over to the benches.” Coach was suddenly kneeling right next to him; startled, Kagami obliged. It was disturbingly easy to lift Kuroko up. Where ordinarily he might have flailed and complained, he was as docile as an infant as Kagami carried him bridal-style in his arms over towards the makeshift bed that the first years had set up on the bench.

Koganei was peering at Kuroko, wide eyed. “I didn’t even realize he was sick!” he exclaimed, speaking for everyone; no one had had a clue Kuroko was sick, and it clearly made everyone uncomfortable to think about.

As he was laid down upon the bench, Kuroko’s eyelids fluttered again. “Kuroko-kun,” Coach said, “I need you to stay awake with us for a little while.”

“I’m so sleepy,” Kuroko breathed again, burrowing beneath the blanket that had been placed over him. His breaths were heavy, panting; he sounded like he was struggling to even keep doing that, and it added a new level of fear to the whole situation.

Kiyoshi, knelt at Kuroko’s side and gently rubbing his head, spoke for everyone when he looked up. “I don’t understand,” he said. “How did no one realize?”

“I should have seen it first,” fretted Izuki. “I’ve got the Eagle Eye…”

“Even Mitobe didn’t realize anything, and Mitobe notices everything!” Koganei bounced at his friend’s side, their faces bearing twin expressions of worry. Kagami swallowed hard, knowing the answer no one had to say – Kuroko was just too unnoticeable to be seen when he wasn’t trying to be. There might have been a chance they they wouldn’t have realized anything was wrong today – if Kuroko had passed out anywhere else, on the bus or at a street corner, what would have happened? What if he were all alone?

Kuroko stirred again, letting out a soft moan, and Kagami sighed through his teeth. “Dammit, Kuroko.”

Everyone knew that guilt wouldn’t make Kuroko better; that didn’t mean it didn’t weigh on them all.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to request whatever you'd like to see, either in the comment section or via tumblr @brites!


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